


Heart and Soul of France

by RoostersCromedCDF



Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Brotherhood, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Friendship, Gen, Gestapo, Hurt!Aramis, Hurt/Comfort, Resistance, Torture, Vague hint of rape but nothing happens, Whump!Aramis
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-02
Updated: 2020-08-02
Packaged: 2021-03-02 19:20:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 23
Words: 64,813
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24451987
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RoostersCromedCDF/pseuds/RoostersCromedCDF
Summary: Paris 1944. Les Inséparables are operating under the code name "The Musketeers" as the military arm of the Résistance. One day, however, a mission gets completely out of hand and the Gestapo captures Aramis. Will Athos, Porthos and d'Artagnan succeed in freeing their brother from the grip of the most terrible organization of the German Reich? For the Musketeers a deadly race against time begins...
Comments: 145
Kudos: 102





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Barbara69](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Barbara69/gifts).



> Here we are: My very first fan fiction. It has been a long and exciting journey, which has mostly given me a lot of pleasure and sometimes caused me quite a headache. Now I am looking forward to sharing the result with you...
> 
> All this has only been possible because my wonderful German Beta barbara69 has guided and supported me while taking my first steps in writing a story. She taught me everything about POV’s, chapter structure, writing dialogues and how to make timetables- thank you, my dear, without you this story wouldn't exist. Above all, she encouraged me to post “Heart and Soul” in English.
> 
> Second, I would like to thank Granny, who spent hours and hours translating the story from German into English- without her there would definitely be no English version.
> 
> Last but not least, I would like to thank DeadShotMusketeer, who spent a lot of time, effort and patience to make the story work in English. The honest "beta crash course" of DeadShot has definitely improved my style of writing. And I solemnly swear that I will no longer make exclamation points!!!!!!
> 
> All remaining mistakes, typos or holes in the plot are solely my responsibility.
> 
> Allen deutschsprachigen Lesern empfehle ich das Original “Herz und Seele Frankreichs”, das ich parallel zu dieser Version poste. Die deutsche Version ist bedeutend umfangreicher und detaillierter geschrieben und es lohnt sich sprachlich und stilistisch, da ich hier “aus dem Vollen” schöpfen konnte  
> *translation see end notes
> 
> The story is completed, I will regularly post a chapter.

_Paris, March 1944_

  


Aramis lay in his concealed hiding spot on the flat roof of an old apartment building, entrenched behind a thick wrought iron railing. Ranging his MAS-36 rifle to the potential target was difficult through the elaborate pattern, but it concealed him well. 

According to secret information his group within the French Résistance had received, the convoy he’d been waiting for should arrive in a few minutes with the most important decoding machine for the Enigma. The Enigma machine, an encryption device developed and used in the early- to mid-20th century to protect commercial, diplomatic and military communication, was employed extensively by Nazi Germany during the war in all branches of the German military. The arrival of the decoding machine in Paris seemed to be like a sign from heaven. The documents previously stolen by his brothers and him had been helpful in more than one way. Unfortunately, even the most scholarly amongst the Résistance members were unable to decode many of the ciphers encrypted by the Enigma. If this decoding machine came into the hands of the Résistance and their Allies, this would have a major impact on the further course of the war. Furthermore, there would be the high possibility to push back the Third Reich, maybe even to their annihilation.

Only for this reason had Aramis refrained from his usual target preparations and taken the risk of short-cutting his exploration of the point of attack. He usually needed a whole week to scan the locations, but this time he dealt with it in one day. As the plans were passed on to the Résistance, they’d learned they not only included the route of the SS convoy, but also the time slots. The Gestapo had disguised the whole operation as a visit of the German trade delegation. As a result, there were hardly any Gestapo or SS men on the street, so Aramis was able to spy completely unnoticed. 

“325m- Just try to find me,” teased Aramis, knowing he had found the perfect hiding spot. No one would suspect him from this far away.

It was well known that since World War I the French government had other priorities than to invest money in the acquisition of modern weapons for its infantry. So far the MAS-36 was still the best rifle Aramis could get. It was a cumbersome rifle and even if one could use 7.5mm calibre cartridges, originally developed for the Chatellerault M24 machine gun, reloading proved to be difficult. In addition, the MAS-36 had no safety mechanisms and soldiers were instructed to load the gun only immediately before combat. Although of comparatively simple construction, the weapon was very robust and due to its short barrel quite easy to handle. Both had proved to be an advantage for Aramis and he was glad that he could take a well-kept specimen from the troops with him when he left the army regulars. He had optimized the rifle for his own purposes in painstaking detailed work. Thus he had managed to extend the range of the rifle by another 50m and now he could shoot almost from a distance of 350m assuming good conditions. No German would trust such a relic of a French weapon, and thanks to this fact- and his talent, every one if his operations had been successful without any major losses.

Aramis rubbed his eyes briefly. It was exhausting to continually concentrate while scanning the area, so he blinked a few times to dispel the tiredness. Confidently thinking of his brothers, whom he had already seen going into the tiny house right next to the small trade office where the handover would take place, eased his growing impatience. _This is taking too long._

But Aramis would patiently wait until the convoy stopped and the Germans got out of the vehicles. Known for his excellent shot and nearly faster than human reload speed, it was Aramis's job to cover Athos, Porthos and d'Artagnan below as they executed their ambush. After this was done, Aramis would disappear into safety on his escape route. By him and his brothers taking different routes they would return to the garrison and, if lucky, they would have brought into their possession one of the most valuable treasures of the German Reich.

“Everything fine and proper, Sir,” reported Aramis, mildly amused, to dispel the dullness of waiting. 

He shivered due to the cold air, and wrapped himself up in his thick sheepskin field jacket. Though the sun in March could warm up, the air was still wintery and cold. Laying on a blanket on the ice cold stone floor of the roof he was happy about his choice to wear his bleak wild boar leather trousers, too. He grimaced a little bit annoyed because of underestimating the cold wind, which dropped his body temperature more than expected.

His eyes wandered constantly to the little church at the end of the street, about 800m away from him. It seemed to be much smaller than the surrounding buildings but its steeple was a little bit higher than the adjacent tenement houses. Only the cross on top was clearly visible for Aramis due to the clear afternoon sky on this cold day of March.

The bright rays of the sun made it shine golden and Aramis allowed himself a brief moment of silence. 

He sorrowfully sighed feeling torn between his warm thoughts of his brothers and what he was about to do to guarantee their safeness. Killing men was never easy. On the one hand he knew those German soldiers were responsible for horrible deeds by spreading fear and horror and not giving a fucking dime about the lives of others. They believed in their God given superiority their _Führer_ always talked about. On the other hand they were also men, brothers or sons of people who loved them. For sure the soldiers were able to love too.

“Lord, have mercy on them,” he prayed to overcome his sense of guilt, bothered by the fact that many of them might be dead within the next hour.

Aramis didn’t have any more time to speculate about the upcoming tide of events, because the convoy of cars came around the corner and stopped in front of the small office building. Aramis took a deep breath and immediately focused on his task. Nothing or nobody could distract him when he was scope-locked on his goals.

“There you gents are. Just get out, I'm waiting for you.” Recognizing the insignia of their uniforms, Aramis identified them as high ranking officers even from a distance. Accompanied by several ordinary Wehrmacht soldiers, they slowly walked towards the stairs of the house entrance.

This was the moment when Aramis was supposed to fire, but something irritated him about the scenario running down on the main square. He couldn't name his unusual feelings, but nothing seemed to be right anymore. What irritated him was the reserved behavior of the officers. Generally German officers were proud and confident, certain of their superiority and all too often radiated an unmistakable arrogance of power. These traits were completely missing, and the officers seemed like puppets out of place. Out of gut instinct he decided to eliminate the soldiers of the Wehrmacht first. He fired three times in a row and three men fell. 

Then the long awaited hell broke loose. The Wehrmacht soldiers started to react. From the corner of his eyes Aramis saw Athos, Porthos and d'Artagnan approaching from the side street, but he simply concentrated on his next shot. He had just pulled the trigger when suddenly two things unexpectedly happened. One of the German soldiers fired a smoke grenade in his direction and soon the whole scene was filled with a dark grey-black smog, immediately blocking his field of view.

At the same instant a large part of the plaster parapet in front of him was blown away. Sharp pieces of plaster flew into his face and scratched his forehead and cheeks and Aramis had no time to turn away. The very next moment another bullet hit a few centimeters beside him, shattering the stone floor of the roof. Thanks to the ceiling no large piece could enter his body and he quickly sought cover, dropping his rifle and burying his head under his arms thus laying flat as a pancake. He sensed another bullet flying just above him and was forced to roll over to the left and seek shelter behind a thicker railing post.

 _What the hell is going on?_ He carefully risked a glance but none of it made sense. Screams came from the forecourt of the trade office below, throwing Aramis’s mind into a frenzy. His heartbeat quickened, his forehead broke out in sweat. His friends were in danger. _Damn it!_

“Don’t give up your location, you can still do this,” he murmured to himself. He peaked down at the forecourt, desperately trying to find his friends.

 _Crack._

Plaster shattered beside his head as a bullet embedded itself into the wall. Aramis ducked, grunted and knew he had to move. “I’m sorry friends, but I’m not good to you dead.” 

Leaving his friends without support, Aramis cursed and grabbed his rifle before darting toward his planned escape route. More plaster shattered, gravel from the roof ricocheted off his shins as bullets whizzed past him, landing too close for comfort. His legs pumped faster as he crossed the roof as did his heartbeat. More bullets reigned down around him as he ran. “ _Merde_! _Merde_! _Merde_!”

He found refuge behind a stone balcony post, let out a breath to try and calm his nerves and senses. “Where are you?” he breathed, risking a peak around the post. He drew his head back immediately when stone chips cut and scratched his face from where another bullet embedded in the post.

He hadn’t seen much in his quick reconnaissance of the court below, but off in the distance he’d seen a church tower. “No way you made the shot from there.” He took another deep breath, felt his pulse slow, his senses regulate and risked another look. Blood rushed from his head, pooled in his feet when he saw someone- just their head, poking above the brick and stone balcony rail of the bell tower. “When the hell did the Nazis develop weapons with that kind of range?”

He remembered rumors of German physicists working with engineers to develop weapons with such enormous reach. He could hardly imagine that they had either manufactured them or that they were already set for action. He was proven wrong because the next bullet hit the ground next to him and he was forced again to take cover.

Now Aramis was sure that at least two snipers had aimed at him. Running out of options he had to make a quick plan to escape. Under any circumstances he had to save the lives of his friends and brothers. In order to do so, he had to change his position, find a better field of view. Quickly, he moved in the opposite direction away from the waft of smoke. He found his escape well chosen, took another deep breath and started to run in a zigzag. In the blaze of gunfire from the German snipers he figured out that they had no real intention whatsoever to hit him. If it had been their goal to kill him, he would already be dead. With their bullets they kept him moving. However, when he reached the edge of the roof and started to climb down the small iron fire ladder, the gun fire intensified and he had no other choice but to jump onto the adjacent roof approximately six feet away. 

Aramis jumped, rolled over and found cover behind the wall of the larger house, which immediately interrupted the sniper’s field of view. Hastily he placed himself into a kneeling position and brought his rifle at the ready. Right away he opened fire towards the turmoil down below in the main square. The wind blew the smoke into the opposite direction and he had a clearer view of the scene of chaos. Only a few minutes had gone by since he had left his original position and Aramis risked a glance.

“Thank God, you made it back, _mes amis_ ”, he sighed in relief. Regardless of the danger, Aramis fired endlessly at anyone who came too close to his friends or tried to cut off their escape route, thus revealing his position openly. It was worth it because three other soldiers fell and therefore his brothers had the opportunity to retreat mainly unharmed. Porthos turned back, moving his head as if searching for him, but even though their eyes didn't really meet due to the great distance, Aramis literally felt the moment when Porthos must have spotted him. He felt infinite relief when he saw his friends could escape. Even though the whole ambush had gone terribly wrong. Aramis had secured his friend’s escape route, and that’s all that mattered.

_Merde, you bloody bastards are here too soon._

Swallowing hard, Aramis refused to let go of his targets until he felt a shotgun barrel on his right temple. Closing his eyes he slowly took his finger off the trigger and pulled himself up. Unexpectedly, Gestapo stormtroopers surrounded him very quickly, shouted at him, and Aramis quickly put down his rifle. He drew back his hands from the weapon and sank backwards. Still kneeling, he raised his arms behind his head and waited for the inevitable blow, which, however, wasn’t yet to come. Instead, the men started to yell at him with orders which he barely understood- their French was not good enough, and their German language sounded too harsh. 

  


  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * For those who don't speak German, here's the translation of the short German text above: To all German-speaking readers, I'd recommend to read the original version of “Heart and Soul of France” as well, which I'm posting parallelly to this version. The German version is written much more extensive and detailed due to the fact that it's my mother tongue. Linguistically and stylistically it's definitely worth reading it in the original version because there I could pick from an embarrassment of riches.
> 
> Disclaimer: The Musketeers are property of Alexandre Dumas and BBC One. I only borrowed the characters and the concept of the show for this work of fan fiction. No copyright infringement is intended.


	2. Chapter 2

  


Captain Tréville, leader of the Résistance Group ‘The Musketeers’, paced his office waiting for the return of his men. Every few seconds he looked at the door separating his private room from the rest of the house they used as their headquarters- the white wooden door still surviving strong after years of war, and acting like a barrier to the outside world. He was waiting for his four prized ex-French soldiers to come bustling in- exhausted, yet full of pride at completing their important mission. He was not prepared to see the youngest of the Résistance Group, d’Artagnan, come storming in with a face full of rage…only two of his team members straggling behind him.

“They have Aramis,” he fumed, charging up to Tréville.

The youngest member of their Résistance group looked miserable. He walked into the room dabbing his face with a bandage where blood was flowing. D’Artagnan was crusted with a black layer of dirt all over. Tréville noticed his red eyes and wondered if he had cried. The sight of him immediately set him on high alert. “What has happened?” 

“Damn it, the Gestapo has Aramis! The Gestapo!” 

Tréville could hear the fear in his voice. Right behind him Athos and Porthos had also crashed into the small room, both covered with the same black dust as their comrade. Porthos was bleeding from his left shoulder, thus his dark blue shirt shimmered black from the dried blood. Athos looked even more disheveled with dried blood on his temple and several abrasions on his face. 

“It was a trap,” Athos hissed. “They must have planned it long in advance and we stumbled right into it. We fell for it like beginners. Someone must have betrayed us. They knew the exact strategy and where we'd be.” After a pause, he added icily, “They knew where Aramis would be.” His face was petrified and his voice sounded unusually hollow. Tréville, who knew him better than anybody else, heard the slight trembling in the voice and saw the deep concern reflected in his eyes.

Porthos ran a hand down his face as he stared at the ceiling. “The damn fool gave up his position to save us. He must have ran to create a distraction for us,” he said wearily. “Bloody fool.” 

The fact that he neither spoke loudly nor angrily seemed for Tréville to be more threatening and frightening than anything else. Porthos was obviously quite afraid.

Tréville felt all the blood vanishing from his face and sank heavily in his armchair. “How could this have happened? Aramis had assured me several times that everything would work out fine and that under the given circumstances his position would be almost perfect.” Tréville rubbed his neck, looking from one to the other.

“We should have paid more attention to the obvious uncertainties in our plan,” said Athos, pointing his finger to the maps on Tréville’s desk.

“You know perfectly well that this whole thing had been too tempting to not take the risk, and how important this is to our interests. This was a unique opportunity to get Gernal Stülpnagel and other high-ranking SS leaders and the decoding machine for the Enigma.” Tréville, feeling anger and impatience rising, started to tap his fingers on the wooden part of his armchair.

Since 1942, the Résistance were able to successfully resist the Nazi regime. Their mission was to demoralize and wear down the German occupiers. However, all groups of opposition were not uniformly united and led, so each group pursued different goals in terms of the supporting members. Their leader ‘King’ Louis, rumor has it Louis was a direct descendant of the Royal Bourbon Family so he chose this euphonious sounding code name, was primarily concerned with the flow of information to the population distributed by his underground newspaper named ‘Combat’. It did not take for long, for King Louis to establish a military section of the Résistance, to diable the Nazis and their collaborators in a vigorous and precise manner. One of these groups was under the command of Captain Tréville, who had selected his men from the disbanded French Army. Within a few months he had formed a powerful, but obviously dangerous group of specialists calling themselves ’The Musketeers’. And up until now they had always carried out the given orders with deathly precision.

“But I tell you again, it was a trap,” Athos replied with an ice-cold voice. He rubbed his hand over his dirty face, smearing blood everywhere. 

“No way! The information was authentic and reliable,” stated Tréville. “We got hold of the exact arrival plan at the very last moment and this fitted exactly into the world of thoughts of the Nazis. You know that they are extremely cautious and meticulous bureaucrats. King Louis had to make considerable efforts to obtain this information.” Tréville was absolutely confident about the veracity of this information. Even after the incident he could hardly believe that the Germans had acted just like this because the time frame for setting up a trap was too narrow.

Three voices began to talk to him at the same time, loud and angry. Tréville knew that becoming more and more aware of the consequences of this event they were trying to retain their lost composure.

“Calm down! How am I supposed to figure out what happened when you all keep talking at once? Did Aramis give away his sniper-nest? Did he move?”

“He provided coverage so we could retreat,” replied ’Artagnan, running a hand through his hair. He twisted his mouth and became even paler than he already was. “He risked his life for us.”

“That goddamn idiot. I could kill him for doing something like that,” growled Porthos. 

Tréville knew that his rising anger was due to his obvious concern and fear for his brother-in-arms' recklessness and ruthlessness towards his own life. But he let Porthos rant to help him let off some steam.

“We have to help him,” Porthos stated, suddenly clenching his hands into fists. He appeared as if he was about to storm off at any moment and do something completely foolish.

Athos blocked Porthos, his threatening gaze fixed on him to prevent him from leaving. “Easy, Porthos. You know what Aramis is like. He’s always putting our life and well-being above his own.”

“Damn right! We'll get him out of there and then I'll kill him myself!” Porthos’ voice raised in volume.

“Enough!” cried Tréville. “I'm as worried as you are, but the most important thing now is that you tell me what exactly happened.” Tréville crossed his arms, focused on every one of them. He needed the information now to initiate any further steps and avert the unavoidable consequences.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> From now on I will post every 3rd day...

When the Gestapo stormtroopers handcuffed Aramis on the flat roof of the house the whole procedure seemed to him to be completely surreal. They pointed with their pistols at him from all sides and brought him down the narrow staircase out into the street. He could hardly believe that this actually happened to him and a small part in his mind tried to protest vehemently. With every step further down he weighed all possibilities of an escape and calculated his chances of survival. Nevertheless, he realized that there was no easy way out for him and the idea that he was depending on the mercy of the henchmen of the Gestapo made him feel dizzy and sick.

A large dark limousine was waiting in front of the house, flanked by three stormtroopers. Since he had been a little boy Aramis loved cars. Every time when he was allowed to ride with his father he begged to drive the car himself. At any other time the Mercedes 290, shiny and stately in front of him, would have probably aroused stormy enthusiasm in him and he would have given everything to be allowed to drive this splendid specimen. _How ironic that this beautiful car will take me to the_ _most horrible_ _place in town..._

One officer opened the door for him while another pushed him into the back car seat. The third one had already taken from the other side a seat next to him and pointed the gun right at his head. After everyone had got into the car they drove off.

He didn't make a move to flee or fight back, and so the men left him alone, and no one spoke to him either. Aramis avoided looking at the stormtrooper, he was sure he wouldn't be able to stand the sight of them, knowing it would only show him the hopelessness of his situation. He did not even dare to imagine what his imprisonment might mean for him. His heart sank low giving thoughts to his brothers and their sorrows they will have about him for sure. To distract him from this awkwardness, he let his mind wander for the next days to come. He saw the people on the streets who lived and loved and laughed despite the war. Suddenly nothing seemed more important to him than a simple ordinary day of life. Absorbed in thoughts he saw the little Florist’s where he had bought three white roses for Anne, the woman he loved, and a few streets away the bar, where d’Artagnan had an incredible argument with the owner over a chicken. They didn't dare return to the bar weeks later. And here was the small church where he always could allow himself to rest and contemplate. 

_Why_ _do the_ _old,_ _gray_ _houses_ _suddenly appear_ _more brightly and the sprouting leaves of the trees more saturated green_ _than ever_ _?_ Aramis wondered, feeling tears burning in his eyes. He secretly wiped them away with the backs of his shackled hands.

After half an hour, the car stopped in front of a solid white metal gate immediately opened by a security guard. Behind it there was a beautiful old monastery, directly connected to a large church and located right in the middle of Paris. The courtyard was overshadowed by a mighty sycamore tree, which might have been more than 200 years old and radiating a sublimity which unexpectedly calmed down Aramis. Probably in all these years the tree had seen horrible incidents and pleasant times, laughing people and sorrow-stricken men and women- Aramis capture was just one of these occurrences- and the tree would be there even if everything else was long gone.

“This way, faster!”

The stormtroopers ushered Aramis to a sturdy wooden door and led him into the so-called auditorium, which walls and even the floor were completely covered with marble. An eager German secretary greeted the small group and their eyes locked for a second. While walking across the hall she immediately started to take notes of the manner of arresting Aramis, then proceeding briskly into her office.

Instead of escorting Aramis towards the main stairs the stormtroopers swung him around to the right, through a smaller wrought-iron door, and through a cloister into the probably oldest wing of the monastery. In front of the first door a man was waiting for them, apparently someone who was of a higher rank than the stormtroopers accompanying him. Based on the short more yelled than spoken commands for these stormtroopers and of the distinctive insignia of rank Aramis assumed, that this officer must be a Rottenführer. Afterwards Aramis, who had acquired a reasonable knowledge of German during the last years, was pushed with an aggressive rudeness three stairs down into a small chamber. He suspected that this room had once been a chapel which had been stripped of all sacred objects and converted into somewhat of an interrogation room. Separated from the rear part by a temporary wall with a plain wooden door the front part was painted white and tiled. The room was dominated by the obligatory red flag with the black swastika beside an unadorned white metal table and several chairs. The table was anchored to the floor and allowed the men of the Gestapo to chain their prisoners to.

Aramis was placed in a high window alcove and without any comment one of the guards removed his handcuffs. All of the other stormtroopers disappeared but two. After their commander entered the room they stepped back and saluted: “Rottenführer Kleindienst- by your command!”

“Come on! Undress!” The man called Kleindienst ordered Aramis now to do so. The terrible German accent caused him pain in both his ears and in his heart while the two stormtroopers stepped threateningly close. Although they kept a small distance they were close enough to prevent Aramis from backing away. Aramis looked Kleindienst into the eyes and saw for sure that there was a Bavarian chain dog in front of him. Kleindienst’s physique resembled one of a pitbull, where one could not clearly distinguish between muscle and body fat. His little eyes sparkled sinister in his reddened moonlike face, his hair was so short he almost seemed to be bald. Kleindienst was not really able to tame his rage, because he obviously was in the same boat with the guy whom he held responsible for most of his men lost. Kleindienst didn’t appear as a good leader, rather than as a recipient of orders, which he could pass on to others with an outstanding precision. Aramis found this man's character traits appealing to, Aramis knew that it would be easy for him to lure Kleindienst out of his only loosely disciplined shell. 

_Y_ _ou certainly don't do anything without your master_ , he thought, surveying the Rottenführer. For a brief moment he was playing with the idea of driving, with a smile on his face, the pit bull to the end of his chain. He would have to restrain himself, but since Aramis hadn't seen his superior, they were probably still at the beginning of this dangerous encounter. He forbade himself from thinking about the end of the story. The stormtrooper to his left and the one to his right made also a powerful argument in the truest sense of the word. So Aramis slowly raised his arms and began carefully to unbutton the woolen shirt. When he was finished, he slipped out and slowly folded it. Aramis was not sure where to put it, but Kleindienst made the decision for him by ripping the shirt from his hand and throwing it carelessly into the nearest corner.

“Go on,” Kleindienst growled contentedly and when he saw the puzzled look in Aramis’ face. “And now the shoes.”

Aramis bent over, untied his shoes and took them off. Before Kleindienst could take them however, he tossed them onto his shirt and, without any further command, took off his socks, which also found their place next to his shirt. The stone floor was freezing cold and Aramis knew that soon he would start to get cold- at best.

Now Aramis hesitated, he fought the thought of taking off his trousers in front of these men. The henchmen were standing in front of him in full gear and he was already feeling more than vulnerable. Just his inner pride of being a soldier gave him a little bit of safety- even if just for now. 

Kleindienst must have noticed his hesitation, because he immediately moved forward. He threw his bulky body towards Aramis and came so close that Aramis had to hold his nose because of the pungent smell of sweat. A few inches from his face, Kleindienst stopped and said in a low voice with a hint of amusement: “The pants too, you miscreation.”

“You have your mind in the gutter, haven’t you?” Aramis replied reflexively to the provocation, and in the same second he knew that he had made a huge mistake.

The blow came out of the blue and with full power, Kleindienst's left fist hit Aramis in the right side of his face. The force of the blow threw Aramis backwards against the stone wall under the window and he had no time whatsoever to react. While he was still holding on to the wall, and even before he could get up to defend himself, the two storm men struck simultaneously and Aramis went down in another round of blows. With every hit the pain grew stronger, he desperately tried to protect his body. Suddenly he was pulled up by the men and thrown against the wall again while Kleindienst hit him several times really hard. Aramis felt his skin on his cheeks, his forehead and mouth bursting. Because of the force of the punches he had bitten his tongue, and the blood mingled with the salt of his cold sweat tasted awful on his lips. Blood dripped from his nose and he moaned softly with every hit, especially when Kleindienst's fists aimed to his lower ribs. Aramis still tried to arch his back as good as he could, but the grip of the storm men was strong. It seemed that they hadn’t done this for the first time and were enjoying themselves.

“Is there anything you want to tell me?”

The words came to Aramis as if from the other side of a veil. A piercing sound in his ears and the blows to his stomach made him feel sick. He fought the urge to throw up, and suppressing a moaning he straightened himself up as good as he could.

“Tell your floozies to let me get up and I'll show you how to hit properly,” Aramis rumbled, unable to hide the trembling in his voice.

Kleindienst's answer came immediately as his fists hit Aramis several times beside the rib cage right into the kidneys. This sudden pain took away Aramis’s breath and if the storm men hadn't held him, he would have probably gone down on his knees.

“Martin, stop! You're going too far. Thernes has to be informed that he is ready for questioning and he needs him unharmed”, one of the two stormtroopers hissed. Aramis was relieved that his admonition was successful, for with a snort of rage the Rottenführer let him go. 

While massaging his hands, Kleindienst chinned to the stormtroopers to take Aramis to the metal chair in front of the white metal table. The two instantly obeyed, dragged Aramis across the room and pushed him onto the chair. With a violent rip of his hands forward they chained him with centimetre-thick handcuffs onto a metal ring in the middle of the table and returned to their position by the door. 

Aramis, using the short break to gather himself, realized that he couldn't take any deep breaths because his ribs hurt like hell. He had felt a sharp pain, maybe of a chracked rib and he knew that his wounds were severe. Nevertheless, he seated himself upright without groaning and stared defiantly into Kleindienst eyes. 

_I'll never show you that it hurts_ , Aramis told himself, watching the Rottenführer battled against his impulse to strike him again. Blood filled Aramis's mouth, and as dignified as possible he tried to turn in the chair- spit it out on the floor, but the pain in his ribs prevented the movement and he barely missed the table. He had scored a small victory albeit at a bitter price.

Kleindienst, showing a slight close-lipped smile, put his hands on his hips. And since his face radiated an expression of satisfaction, Aramis suspected that he probably looked as bad as he felt at the moment.

The Rottenführer bent over the table, looked at Aramis and whispered smugly, “Who's the floozy here, huh? Keep your trousers on. You’re gonna need them,” he said mockingly.

Aramis was wise enough not to answer, but although hurt he returned the man's scorn with a grin and countered his stare. Kleindienst was the first to break their mutual eye contact by turning away, allowing Aramis a moment of triumph, however small.

“We're leaving!”, the Rottenführer commanded his men. While walking out of the room he glanced mockingly at Aramis. “We'll come back for sure, that's a promise, you little Resistance-vermin,” he added boastfully before closing the door behind him.

Aramis remained rigid and upright in the chair until the three men had left the room.

Only after he had heard the door falling into the lock he exhaled and sank with his head forward on his hands, exhausted and trembling. He closed his eyes and breathed in as best he could, his blood was dripping onto the blossom-white table and wetting the painted surface. After he had gathered himself, he slowly straightened up his back as good as his ribs would allow and tried to wipe with the chained back of his hands the blood from his nose and beard. Only to a limited extent he succeeded, but at least he prevented the blood from dripping further. Carefully he licked his tongue over his split lip, but stopped immediately. There was nothing he could do about the swelling and the bruises anyway. Deeply shocked by the assault of the stormtroopers, Aramis sank forward onto the table, leaned on his forearms and tried to make himself as comfortable as possible.

Familiar with the chaotic and random blows and brutality of bar fights, Aramis not remembered a time when he'd been beaten so concisely- and without a chance to defend himself. The methodical and dreadful brutality with which Kleindienst and his men had proceeded had been terrifying, every punch hit precisely and it was obvious that they had done this as a team, with the sole purpose of shaking, hurting and demoralizing him. From the present point of view they had achieved bodily injuries but they couldn’t shake his confidence.

Aramis didn't know how long he had been sitting alone in the room, he must have dozed off for a few moments. As a soldier he had learned how to sleep in every possible situation and to use every opportunity to do so. Now that the level of adrenaline in his blood after the attack and his capture had fallen low and the pain of the assault had gained, Aramis felt exhausted and empty of emotions. He had lost his awareness of time. Since the large Gothic windows had been darkened with the help of rough wooden planks, and the room was only dimly lit by a thin, reddish light bulb, he could only approximately guess how much time had passed since his arrest. 

Aramis suspected that it must have been early in the evening, because when the door was opened, the cloister behind it shone in that warm and bright red shade that was so typical of dawn right before the night sank in. In that moment Aramis knew now was the time for the man in charge to make his appearance. 

When the commander of the Gestapo, Commissioner Thernes, finally arrived, Aramis was surprised that he didn’t have an impressive pasture. He wore a black leather coat and a likewise black uniform with the obligatory silver insignia concealed his rather slender stature. His face seemed to be good-hearted at first sight, nevertheless it bore a hint of a fussy bureaucrat. This impression was supported by small round glasses. If one would meet this man on the street, no one would waste any further thought on him. It occurred to Aramis how absurd it was that this average-person could be the highest ranked officer within the Gestapo. Nobody ascends the career ladder of the worst and most brutal German organization without the necessary degree of malice and cruelty. 

_Can one do evil without looking evil_ , Aramis puzzled.


	4. Chapter 4

Commissioner Thernes took his time to take a closer look at Aramis before he sat down in the white chair on the other side of the table. Kleindienst had already informed him more than two hours ago that the sniper was ‘ready’ for interrogation, but Thernes was not in a hurry.

Based on his experience, the Commissioner knew the anticipation of an interrogation was enough to break most men’s spirits. The longer a prisoner waited, the longer they stewed in their own imaginative fear. Keeping his prisoners waiting, hours- even days, was like spit roasting a pig. One had to wait, be precise and not over cook or under cook, but wait for the exact moment when the skin is just about to break open to release their sweat juices before removing it from the fire. In the Commissioner's case, he was waiting till Aramis, the Musketeer prisoner, showed signs of his skin about to spit open. But it had taken too long, and he’d grown frustrated with how at ease his prisoner seemed to be handling his imprisonment. He decided to go ahead with the interrogation, despite his prisoner not being perfectly primed.

Thernes was satisfied with what he saw because it matched completely the image he had of this man in his mind.

 _Kleindienst might have exaggerated_ , mused the Commissioner not really surprised. Kleindienst always reacted violently towards people who were superior to him, that was one weak point of his otherwise cold-blooded leader of the squad. And that this sniper was superior to Kleindienst was clear to Thernes’. Certainly, it didn't happen too often that a varmint resisted arrest. To be honest, persons being arrested by the Gestapo should react frightened and helplessly, and submit to the _‘_ natural order’.

 _This_ _prisoner_ _probably not_ , Thernes thought, and that was exactly what he liked to deal with.

The paradox between Aramis's soldierly attitude mixed with a childlike rebelliousness was not lost on Thernes. Given his appearance, half-naked, bloody and covered with bruises this was a daring venture. Oh yes, he hadn't had a challenge like this for a long time and working with this prisoner was extremely promising. _And if not- we haven't exhausted all possibilities, yet_! 

While Thernes meticulously and carefully laid the file he had brought with him on the table in front of him, he eyeballed the prisoner from top to bottom. The man in front of him looked much younger and almost fragile due to the blood and bruises, but behind his battered appearance Thernes recognized the uncompromising character of a hunter. At this table sat one of the most gifted snipers he had ever seen and this would never have been possible without a certain amount of cold-bloodedness and slyness. Thernes also was aware that his prisoner knew exactly who he really was despite the mask of arbitrariness he liked to flaunt.

Nevertheless the reaction of Aramis once he had recognized him entering the room surprised him. Instead of displaying fear the prisoner was noticeably relieved, almost as if he had already made a decision which Thernes was unable to see. 

For a short moment Thernes was annoyed by the impudence of this Résistance-rat, but from the bottom of his heart this behaviour only motivated him on for the coming. The next hours would be surely very challenging.

He and his staff had worked for weeks to set up the trap for the musketeers. Again and again they had discussed all the plans back and forth and considered all possible variations. To sum it up, to catch a sniper was a difficult task, even more difficult to catch a sniper of the quality of this Frenchman. Thernes had to make sure that the Musketeers and no other Résistance group would fall for the trap. Using either the Enigma, or its key, as well as high-ranking officers as a bait finally seemed to be the best option. Thernes himself had the idea to pass on the information to his mole in the garrison as late as possible so that the information appeared authentic. Placing the German snipers so far outside the usual sniper’s range had borne certain risks, the precision of German ingenuity paired with outstanding soldierly skill had paid off. But Thernes would not go so far as to actually use German high-ranking officers and so he had decided to disguise insignificant Wehrmacht soldiersand send them ‘on the mission’. The guards, whose primary task was to protect the leadership elite, had now become guards who had to make sure that the decoys did not fall out of their roles. This was probably the only possible weakness in the otherwise perfect plan and it was clear from the statement of Kleindienst that a man like this sniper had looked quickly through the charade.

***

Aramis furtively checked out Thernes and wasn't fooled by the simple plainness of his predatory-like expression glittering dangerously in his eyes hidden behind his glasses. Aramis, as a sniper with ruthless intuitions, which he kept deeply buried until he brought his ‘inner demon’ out into the field of battle, recognized in his counterpart: he was for sure a Predator. Nausea mounted inside him when he realized that he was sitting at the same table with probably the most dangerous man in France. This was the worst conceivable starting position since he was in chains and had a blood-covered face. The interrogation would not be like fair combat in the field, he would never get the opportunity to face this man according to his abilities. It began to dawn on Aramis that here he was the prey, the only reason why he was still alive was because this man on the other side of the table did not want him dead.

Aramis quietly sighed and tried to relax, but he didn't really succeed in calming down his heartbeat that was pounding in his ears. Nothing he would do or say could influence the situation. He had given up his position and now he had to bear the consequences. The fact that he had saved the lives of his brothers gave him some comfort and he hoped that he would find enough strength for what was coming to be. 

As a soldier and a prisoner of war he was aware of what to expect from the Gestapo and that they would do everything within their power to humiliate and depersonalize him to take away his self-respect.

 _They can’t take what I give up voluntarily._ And so he pictured his dignity and identity as being two magnificent horses, just as the same that had once been ridden by the Musketeers, and in his imagination he set them free. He would not need them any more in this desperate situation. Whatever awaited him, no matter how long it took, he would endure it without losing his self-respect. Aramis would do what he had to do. At the end of this he would call his horses back and he would be himself again- even in death. 

At peace with himself, he was ready to fight no longer according to his rules, but to surrender to theirs. He was ready to acknowledge that they could do anything they wanted to and they certainly would do so. But there was nothing they could do about Aramis’ response to their actions. That would be his inner strength, his personal victory, unnoticed by the henchmen. This was all that would remain. Aramis hesitated whether he should release the last inner Musketeer horse, his will to live, but at this point it seemed to be too early. _Not yet_ , he decided, _not yet, it’s too soon._

“I am Commissioner Thernes, as you may know”.

Aramis, a little surprised at how fluently and accentlessly the Commissioner spoke French, just nodded slightly and leaned back as far as the shackles would allow him. He wanted to wait and see how the conversation would develop and adapt himself to Thernes.

A depressing silence lay over the room, only the heavy breathing of Aramis could be heard. Gradually he became cold from the stone floor, but what bothered him even more was the inner coldness he felt. Since the disastrous Savoy mission at the beginning of the war, Aramis had to live with this emotional numbness and in moments of stress and fear it became omnipresent. He could not prevent a tremble from running through his body even if Thernes would see it happen. Right now he was a slave to this situation, but his soul was free. 

Thernes sighed before he asked, “When and why did you know that the officers were a decoy?”

 _The officers?_ Aramis raised an eyebrow in surprise. _Oh! The officers._ An amused smile flickered over his face. “They lacked the typical German arrogance,” he remarked. Awaiting immediate consequences he prepared himself for a blow, but nothing at all happened. Instead, Thernes now smiled as well.

“Yes, I almost thought that you would look through this charade! A man only becomes as good as you are if he has an unerring instinct for his aims. Well, nevertheless you and I are sitting here, so this manoeuvre was successful after all…” Thernes replied, almost lecturing without changing the steady pitch of his voice.

Aramis merely shrugged his shoulders, he didn't care what Thernes had figured out to catch him. Thernes had it in for him, even though Aramis couldn't figure out why. Athos, as the commander of the Musketeer-squad, would have been certainly a more promising target and the thought that his brothers were safe took a load off his mind.

There was silence again till this time interrupted by the rustling sound of the pages as Thernes opened the file. Aramis didn't have to look to know that inside were photos of the murdered soldiers and probably a few copies of official papers.

“We know in great detail about you, Monsieur Rene d'Herblay. Also known as _Aramis_ , sniper for the Résistance group _The Musketeers_ under the command of King Louis. So far you’ve killed forty-three German men, including eighteen officers. I could execute you on the spot for this, you know,”

 _Sixty-seven_ _, to be exact_ , Aramis silently corrected, but did not react further, just kept eye contact with him waiting to see where all of this would lead.

***

Thernes was a little disappointed that the death threat caused nothing more than questioning look in Aramis' eyes. He made notes that the man in front of him seemed to be different to all other prisoners. It was quite possible that Aramis hadn't faced his death for the first time. Thernes felt an urge to draw his pistol and aim at Aramis' head- only to see how he would react. But that would probably have to wait a little bit longer, because he knew he was still far away from the information he so desperately wanted. And again his anticipation of what the next hours would bring rose. It would definitely take hours because the sniper wouldn’t give up so easily. Thernes was pretty sure of that. He felt more lively than ever before and with every other blow he started to enjoy this intellectual game even more.

“Well,” Thernes said in a sonorous voice, as he bent over the table thus coming closer to Aramis. “I think we can save the obvious chit-chat and go straight to the point. It saves my time and yours.” The Commissioner leaned back, raised his eyebrows and paused meaningfully. 

But Aramis did not lower his eyes and smiled at him without engagement. “If you would be so kind as to tell me exactly why I’ve been brought to this…” Aramis looked around the small chapel for a moment, “this institution, then I would feel a great deal better. That over there…” Aramis chinned to the file. “This has nothing to do with me.”

Thernes laughed. _That’s pretty steep_! “And you were on top of the roof with a sniper rifle, because...?” he replied amused.

“I was doing target practice and chasing pigeons. It's not easy to get meat in these times, as you surely know,” Aramis replied perkily, and in his eyes appeared a wicked sparkle. Thernes felt the urge to hit this bastard right in his face but he decided to let it be. _I want him to feel safe._

Thernes stood up and laughed as he walked around the table while shaking his head in disbelief. Of all possible paths this conversation could have taken, this had been the most unexpected one. _How exciting!_

“Well, nevertheless, the dead on the main square tell a different story and I advise you to acknowledge the seriousness of your situation,” Thernes ended the verbal skirmish with a sudden chill in his voice and suddenly his fist banged on the table in front of Aramis’ face. His opponent tensed up his jaw involuntarily twitched, but Thernes couldn't differentiate between anger or fear. After all, he had provoked Aramis into his first reaction, this was promising. “Where are your sniper-nests? In which backyard is a coward rat like you hiding?” urged the Commissioner.

***

Aramis knowing the man had finally gotten to the point and the prelude was over suck in air. As a sniper, he had to keep his permanent military position absolutely secret in order not to be discovered and liquidated. Aramis had created a network of hiding places all over Paris because the Musketeers were always carrying out different missions in different places. So he was able to take different streets under fire- depending on where the others took action. This had cost the Third Reich many good men, and from this perspective he was probably a better catch than Athos. Aramis leaned back again, he hadn't noticed that he had bent over unintentionally towards Thernes. “I don't know what you mean, _S_ ir,” he replied with all seriousness, turning his head and looking at him with an innocent childlike look. Usually this was the look he gave only Serge after he had once again searched the garrison's pantry for hidden delicacies and been caught with his pockets full. “I don't know any snipers, I just was on the roof...”

“...chasing pigeons, I know!” Thernes completed the sentence, with a slightly amused voice.

Although Aramis had seen this reaction coming, he flinched when Thernes, contrary to his amused expression, again hit his fist violently in front of him on the table. Aramis was relieved for a short moment that it had only struck the table and not his face.

“And where is King Louis?” Thernes asked with threat in his voice. 

The sudden coldness in the Commissioner's eyes told Aramis he better be careful not to continue the game in this way. But Aramis could not find another method to continue with; he was just the way he was. Hadn't Porthos repeatedly predicted that if he would be too free with his tongue he probably may lose his head one day? The mere thought of his friend and brother gave Aramis a sting in his heart and for a brief moment, he felt unendingly lonely.

“Who?” he asked emphatically naively in return.

Thernes abruptly straightened and looked like a teacher who had to live with the student’s incorrect answer. He stepped away from Aramis and the spatial distance alone seemed to let all the unspoken threats vanish in one blow. Thernes tilting his head to one side, twisted his mouth and Aramis was sure that his disrespect would be prosecuted and braced himself. Sighing, Thernes sat down again and opened another folder. He slowly laid down on the table one photo after the other in front of Aramis. 

This was the moment when Aramis became a little curious. _What could Thernes conjure?_ Aramis knew there were no other official papers of him except his citizenship and military registration. In wise foresight, King Louis had them removed from all state archives. Not only for him, but also for all other members of the Résistance, in order to be prepared for cases like this one. So Aramis was certain that Thernes would have nothing incriminating against him, but the diabolic expression briefly flickering on the face of his opponent made Aramis feel insecure.

They were blurred pictures, some of them enlarged, and when Aramis could see the content in them he breathed heavily. Following a deep inner impulse, he strained at his chains and tried to get free or at least grab the photographs, as if he could protect the people in them with this gesture. Since he had no success he leaned back hopelessly. It seemed as if the back of the armchair was the only bodily support he could get at that moment. For the second time since he had arrived at the Gestapo headquarters, Aramis felt helpless and at the mercy of others. He had imagined and awaited many things for himself, but the threat he was feeling seeing by these pictures brought him nearly to the brink of surrender. Aramis lowered his head, squinted his eyes and retreated into himself, not to give any further room to the Commissioner to target him once more.

***

“Oh-ha! So that's how one upsets a brave Musketeer.” Thernes, who had watched Aramis’ response to the pictures with joy, mocked him. He had absorbed every emotional reaction and motion, and even every facial expression, and knew that he had already pushed him into a state of mind he wanted Aramis to be in. _What a pity_. Thernes regretted that the game was already over. He hadn't thought that Aramis’ spirit was so easily overpowered, he had correctly calculated his prisoner’s physical hardship and willingness to self-sacrifice, but he hadn't expected that behind the facade of an uncompromising sniper would be such a gentle disposition. And once again his idea that emotions make people weak and predictable was confirmed. Now there was not much left for Thernes to do than to lean back in the armchair, to fold his arms and enjoy the victory, which spread a feel of satisfaction within.

  



	5. Chapter 5

_Mon Dieu, how did the Commissioner get these pictures?_

Shock gave way to sheer panic and Aramis reacted without any consideration. He had to protect her, he was willing to risk his own life but he was not willing to risk her life.

Aramis knew exactly which day it was when these pictures had been taken. Even though the pictures were black and white he saw her yellow dress and her radiant blue eyes. Anne and he had always been extremely careful when they started their affair almost five months ago. It was a dangerous situation. The King, even though he dedicated all his devotion, money and time to free the French nation from the German occupation, was a very jealous and possessive person who would never allow anybody to abduct either his wife or personal belongings. Louis' circle of friends reflected these two sides of his personality as well. He cultivated political contacts far beyond the borders of France and enjoyed close connections with the European government elite. However, in his private life the King proved to have less intuition and surrounded himself with dubious personalities such as Rochefort or Perales, who unfortunately reinforced his negative characteristics even more. Aramis knew that Anne had to suffer severely under her husband's airs and graces.

_But Anne was so strong and endured his escapades with so much dignity_. Aramis had been devoted to Anne from the first moment he saw her. Shortly after the The Musketeers had been formed they had all gathered for the first strategy meeting on behalf of the King's command. Side by side with Louis, Anne entered the garrison that day emanating a truly royal elegance and grace. Both he and Anne had taken their chairs next to each other. 

_God, she was so adorable._ Anne was young, but Aramis had immediately recognized her inner strength, coupled with intelligence and passion. He was immediately attracted to her. Shortly after, they had fallen into a German ambush and Aramis had tried to protect her from the bullets flying around. Drawing her to the ground he had shielded her with his own body. The few seconds they had been lying there had been enough to fall in love. But it wasn't until almost two years later that they had eventually grown closer while in a convent outside Paris, again amidst a German aerial assault. They had been carried away by their emotions, and passionately followed their feelings, even though Athos, who had been also present, had made it unmistakably clear there was no future for this affair. Nevertheless, he kept their secret and although extremely reluctant, he covered for them whenever necessary.

It had been an unusually warm November afternoon when the photo was taken, and Anne had worn this beautiful yellow dress. The autumn sun had shone brightly and bathed the last leaves on the trees in a symphony of orange and red. Anne and he had walked through the small park at the convent somewhere in the suburb of Paris. Under the stern and disapproving eyes of the nuns they had strolled around hand in hand, kissing and giggling like teenagers and running away from them. It had appeared appropriate that every time since then, they met enclosed by sacred walls, just as they had been on their first night together.

_How ironic- now the_ _H_ _oly Halls have only the worst to offer_ , thought Aramis as he looked around his prison Church.

Aramis turned back to the pictures and suddenly he wondered who could have taken them. There was no mistake the photos displayed a true love relationship between him and Anne, which meant only trouble if the photos were exposed. Could Athos have done this? _No,_ _certainly not_ , he thought. _But who?_ Somewhere in the back of his mind arose a slight suspicion, but Aramis couldn't really grasp it and at the moment it didn't matter either.

_Dios mios, I would sacrifice my life for her._

Right away Aramis had the urgent feeling that he had to escape from this prison at all cost, and to protect Anne. Realizing that the Commissioner knew what Anne meant to him almost drove him insane. The wickedness of the Commissioner was besmirching the purity of their feelings and it seemed as if the liveliness of their love was butted into a cesspool filled with brackish water, only to be suffocated by the mud. Full of bitterness.

_I am so sorry. I can do nothing for you, you are on your own, just like me. Please, hold on, my dear_. Falling back into his chair with resignation this thought almost tore Aramis heart apart.

“Oh-ha- so that throws the brave musketeer a curve.” The Commissioner’s voice filled with mockery, and his complacency did not escape Aramis' attention. But in the moment he was not willing, despite his desperation, to show how much Thernes’ possession of these images had devastated him. Rebelliously straightening up Aramis returned the Commissioner’s look.

Of course he knew that the pictures were a most obvious threat to harm Anne, maybe even to kill her, if he would not reveal all the information he had. And for one twinkling of an eye Aramis toyed with the idea of giving the Commissioner what he wanted out of sheer fear and concern for Anne. But Aramis shook fiercely his head to get rid of this thought as quickly as possible. 

“I should probably threaten you that I'm gonna kill you if you lay a finger on her,” he whispered with a grumble as he looked Thernes straight in the eyes. His voice was as cold as his heart. “But we both know that I'm not in the position to negotiate. So I’ll just let it be. I have confidence that she can take care of herself- you are barking up the wrong tree.”

Aramis nearly fell off his chair as Thernes' fist landed on the side of his face. Stars exploded in his head and his visual field was darkened for a moment. Tasting metallic blood in his mouth, he dazedly shook his head. When he peered at the Commissioner he stood calm and serene next to him, but Aramis still saw the overwhelming fury seething in his eyes.

“Alright,” Thernes replied coolly, masking his voice which sounded a bit tormented. “I can’t see any progress at the moment. Get Kleindienst, we'll start with the enhanced interrogation.”

And Aramis knew that the second round of this game was about to begin.

He didn't resist when the two stormtroopers standing at the door came to open his handcuffs, with which he was still chained to the table, and pulled him up. Every muscle of his maltreated body was aching. Trying to relax as much as possible he allowed the men to pull his two arms back and to push his head down.

They dragged Aramis into the room next door, which once also had to belong to the monastery chapel, but now had been partitioned off. The Gothic ceiling vault and the thick stone columns could be seen here too, and the windows high Lancet capped by a sharply pointed arch still did not allow a view out into the street, because they were nailed down with wooden planks. This second room had a distinctly different atmosphere, it lacked the accurate white paint, the stone walls looked old and venerable. Here and there one saw faded frescoes whose colors only could be guessed.

All ecclesiastical attributes had been carelessly thrown into a corner by the Gestapo men. On top of the pile of benches, figures of saints, altar candles there laid an old wooden cross adorned with the figure of Jesus, whose sad eyes seemed to look right into Aramis' heart. The suffering Christ maneted his ordeal, his martyrdom and his helplessness in the face of evil. For a brief moment, feeling the same like Jesus, Aramis was suddenly carried away by a deep comfort that embraced him like a warm wave wrapping every single fiber of his body and soul. But this consoling moment lasted too short and the hard reality pushed him back into the here and now. 

In the middle of the room stood a large white chair with footrests, most likely stolen by the Gestapo from a hospital. Several thick ropes and iron chains hung from the high ceiling, some of them equipped with hooks or carabiners. A shiver ran through him at the sight of them, and Aramis did not dare to imagine what they could be used for. Some of the stone columns were surrounded by iron, centimeters thick rings, with handcuffs attached. The columns looked worn and seemed especially on the wider foundations to have rusted.

_Stone can't rust, can it?_ Before he could think about it further, he was pressed roughly into the chair.

The stormtroopers immediately pulled thick leather straps around his feet, making it impossible to move back or forth more than a few centimeters. They dragged his arms behind the chair and squeezed them into a fixed device from his palm to above his wrists. Aramis had no choice but to lean his head back against the upholstery, anything else was too uncomfortable and painful for him. Feeling absolutely vulnerable, it was a humiliating situation sitting beaten and defenseless in front of the stormtroopers. Clammy fear crawled up inside Aramis and he tried to swallow it several times. Suddenly he realized that he was actually very thirsty, he had not drunk since leaving the garrison, but that was probably one of his lesser problems at the moment.

“Well, you old foozy. You've looked much better than last time I saw you, my darling,” mocked Kleindienst. 

Aramis hadn't noticed that he had joined the chapel.

The Rottenführer had approached Aramis within a few centimeters. Smelling his sweat and counting almost every greasy shiny pore of his tight skin Aramis was able to push back his fear. The contempt and hate he felt toward that man was huger than anything else. Aramis, knowing his situation could drastically worsen once again, tried very carefully to not wear his heart on his sleeve. For now, he contented himself with a slight arrogant smile and simply looked through Kleindienst. The Rottenführer snorted like an angry bull, apparently annoyed that his provocation was blown off. He went behind the chair and Aramis was not able to see him any longer.

Thernes also had entered the room, and pulled a small round swivel chair from behind a thick, heavy wool curtain hiding a small alcove. Demonstratively sitting down on it and rolling almost leisurely to one side of Aramis, he almost looked like a doctor who would devote himself entirely to his patient. _Well, he certainly would_ , Aramis had no doubt about that.

The Commissioner smiled friendly. The anger that had been so obvious on his face just a few minutes ago had been blown away and was replaced by an expression of almost friendly emotionallynoncommittal. 

“Well,” he began with a devotional voice, as if he was talking to a child, “let's start again. Where are your sniper’s nests? And where is Louis hiding?”

Aramis shook his head stubbornly and would have also shrugged his shoulders if he could have. _Do you Gestapo bastard really think I will sell myself that cheap?_

“Tststs...please, silence is useless, Aramis. We should have a more open discussion after all, don't you think? But fine…” the Commissioner said lightly and nodded to Kleindienst. 

Aramis couldn't see what the Rottenführer was doing, but he could feel him tampering with the device in which Aramis' wrists were clamped, obviously activating a screw or something similar. The apparatus narrowed uncomfortably and Aramis felt as if his hands were stuck in a vice.

“Where are your sniper’s nests? And where is this King?” Thernes calmly repeated. Aramis, refusing to answer, turned his head towards the window. He had nothing to say to the Commissioner. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Thernes nodding again in the direction of Kleindienst. And once again the vice was further tightened and Aramis' wrists began to hurt awkwardly. He felt his throbbing blood working in a futile attempt toward his fingers. 

“I'm going to repeat it slowly: Where are your sniper’s nests? Where is Louis hiding?” the Commissioner asked a third time.

Aramis wondered only briefly about the gentle and patient way in which Thernes asked him the same question over and over again. Aramis looked defiantly into the Commissioner's eyes and didn’t answer. But for a short moment he could see a flash of something that Aramis couldn't range in.

_Is it an anticipation of something cruel? Is it hate?_

Before he could go on with thinking about it, he saw again Thernes nodding and suddenly he felt a stabbing pain shooting up his arms from the wrists right up into his hyperextended shoulders. Aramis could hardly restrain a groan and gasped for air as best he could. Breathing heavily and with his eyes and lips pressed together he pushed the peak of his pain back, yet his whole body was slightly trembling.

During the last turn the handcuffs had now released thin but extremely sharp thorns, drilling into his palms, the backs of his hands, his wrists and part of his forearm only a few centimeters apart. Aramis didn't know how deep the thorns had pierced his skin and flesh, or how much damage they had done to his blood vessels. Feeling clearly a warm fluid running over his fingertips Aramis tried to get a grip on the aching pain in his whole body and concentrated on breathing. Immediately a cold sweat covered his whole body making him shiver.

“Where are your sniper’s nests?”

Apparently Aramis didn’t realize the Commissioner was asking this question again, far too much was the whooshing sound of blood in his ears. Suddenly he felt a sharp pain on his chest. Aramis widely opened his eyes and sighed in pain. In front of him stood Kleindienst, scornfully grinning and holding a thin metal chain in his right hand. 

However, the pain of the blow was bad, but the pain in his hands was worse. Involuntarily trying to move his body away from the force of the hitting blow, the sharp thorns plunged further into Aramis flesh and he had the feeling they were already scratching the bones of his hand. With his best effort, Aramis sat still and relaxed his tense muscles to such an extent that he tried to avoid a careless movement to not risk further rupture of his blood vessels in his wrists.

Collecting himself, Aramis’ senses turned back to the world outside. He noticed that it had become completely quiet. All he heard was a constantly plopping sound similar to the sound a drop makes when it hits a surface mixing there with an ever-increasing liquid. It gradually dawned on Aramis that he was hearing his own blood pulsating out of him more and more frantic with every heartbeat. Again a slight panic rose within him. He couldn't turn around and see the extent of his injury, so he didn't know how severe the bleeding was and if an artery was affected.

_And if it was, in a few minutes it wouldn't matter anyway._ Realizing this sad truth Aramis let himself fall deeper into the chair and gave completely in. There was no reason in continuing to fight the inevitable. 

He gazed up towards the old cross-ribbed vault stretching across the room and forming a repeating pattern. In contrast to other sacred architecture, the closed walls and arches of the Gothic style were originally intended to form a protection against the bad and the evil outside the walls. _But how can they protect me when evil has spread inside the building?_ Nevertheless, originally the monastery was a place where the spirit of love and comfort had been reflected and the sturdy arches briefly gave Aramis a sense of security. 

He closed his eyes and waited in resignation. Suddenly a wave of deep tiredness washed over him. His head began to ache, his eyelids became heavy and he wanted nothing more than to sleep. Like after drinking a heavy glass of wine, Aramis could feel an unbearable lightness rising. The heat of pain previously rushing through his body was replaced by a pleasant coolness, like a gentle breeze at the end of a hot summer day. 

“It's going too fast, Commissioner,” the coarse voice of Kleindienst cut the peaceful silence. Aramis, who couldn't force his eyes open again, heard from afar that Thernes rolled with his chair up to him again grunting with disapproval. A constant trembling started to ran through him and the headache increased rapidly.

“Seems so,” Thernes said with slight regret in his voice. “Get Dr. Rausch, he should take a look at him,” he instructed the stormtrooper standing as a guard quietly at the door. 

The stormtrooper replied with a snappy, “Yes, Sir.”

Few moments later a lean short man entered the interrogation room. His white coat and the thick brown leather bag unmistakably defined him as a doctor. Dr. Rausch had obviously been waiting for his entrance, and he showed some experience with the procedure, because he released the cuffs around Aramis' wrists in no time at all.

Aramis was free. Stunned by the unnatural hyperextension of his back and the loss of blood, his arms dangled listlessly beside the armchair. The doctor told him to sit up, but Aramis was hardly able to control his body. Unfortunately without the doctor's help he could not straighten up completely, because he could not support himself with his hands. Feeling unpleasant, Aramis nevertheless allowed the doctor to help him bring both of his legs, meanwhile freed from their shackles by Kleindienst, to one side. Completely stunned, Aramis saw the trail of blood his wounds had left both on the chair and the floor. When he finally sat upright, Aramis was exhausted and again and again a tremor ran through his body.

Aramis gazed now at his injured hands. He still couldn't figure out how severe the wounds were, because they were covered all over in blood. The doctor immediately had to put dressings on his hands and wrists. Few moments later he also applied a pressure bandage just above the wounds to prevent an even more excessive bleed. Dr. Rausch waited as long as necessary, then he cleaned and stitched up the wounds without any passion, and dressed both hands and wrists tightly with long bandages made out of floral-white linen. However the bandages slowly began to show small red dots of blood again. Aramis now saw a glass jug being placed under the apparatus in which his hands had been clamped. His blood had been collected there. In a short time the amount of blood had probably reached a high level, which prompted Kleindienst to stop the procedure. Aramis, feeling weak, realized that these men knew exactly what they were doing.

“So far the bleeding has stopped, Commissioner, but I would suggest taking it a bit more gentle for the next few hours,” Dr. Rausch said to Thernes. 

Aramis, hearing the ruthlessness in the doctor's voice, knew that he didn't care one bit about his well-being. Instead he only restricted the possibility for the Commissioner to torture. Unaffected, he dressed Aramis' wounds like he would a soon to be slaughtered animal at a meat market. Of course, Aramis knew about the cruelties committed by the Nazis. He had seen the train wagons filled with people and had heard incredible rumors about camps where thousands of them had been killed. He had seen soldiers who shot children in cold blood on the open road, simply because they could and wanted to. But Aramis realized in shock that it was one thing to know something, but quite another to experience it first-hand. 

Suddenly feeling nausea rising, he emptied his stomach. As if the doctor had foreseen that, he managed to pull a pan out from under the stool. Unfortunately, the constant heaving sent new waves of pain through Aramis’ body, and his ribs underneath his bruised chest complained sharply during the cramps. Aramis stopped retching when there was nothing left inside him but bile, and closed wearily his eyes as he tilted heavily sideways in the big chair. He was unbearably dizzy and it seemed that every part of his energy had left his body and mind. Aramis felt like he was sitting in a wobbling boat yet he tried to anchor his whirling mind somewhere.

He had no idea how much time had passed since the Commissioner and the doctor had ended the torture and the treatment. The doctor sat still by his side and neither the Commissioner nor Kleindienst had left their stand. Maybe Aramis had even passed out, but right now he had no strength to pour over anything any longer. At some point he noticed that the ongoing activities in the room penetrated his mind again and he sluggishly opened his eyes.

“He is dehydrated. You have to take care of that, too,” Dr. Rausch told Thernes.

Aramis sighed with a joyless laughter. The whole situation was both absurd and yet a little bit funny. _They let me bleed to death like a pig in a slaughterhouse and now they’re worried about giving me enough water to drink?_

Thernes looked at Aramis. “Then let's water the cattle,” he said in a strangely instructive tone, alarming Aramis' somewhat dull mind. “I'll give you the opportunity to...let's say reconsider the situation a bit, and I advise you to do better next time when we meet again.”

Aramis tiredly watched as the Commissioner chinned to Kleindienst and the stormtroopers with a malicious expression on his face, and he had an unpleasant feeling that the third part of the game was about to begin.


	6. Chapter 6

Standing at the window, Tréville waited for a signal he hoped would get through.

He let his eyes wander to the old main building of the Hȏpital Saint-Louis, a hospital whose founding year dated back far into the 17th century. With all its turrets and oriels it resembled a small cathedral and even if today the once red bricks only appeared to be pale and blackened, the building had not lost any of its original sublimity. _I feel as old as it looks,_ Tréville thought exhausted by the events of the day.

In the early afternoon after Athos, Porthos and d'Artagnan had returned from their failed mission, he was able to piece together the whole debacle based on their detailed reports. Therefore he was eager to be the heaven of peace right in the middle of the agitated chaos. Of course, Porthos had immediately tried to rush off to free Aramis, followed by an empty-headed d’Artagnan while a persistent Athos clung to the thought that they had been betrayed. First of all, he had commanded to the trio to let Dr. Nicholas Lemay, a befriended and highly respected doctor of Anne’s family, take care of their wounds. He also made Athos swear to high heaven that he would do his best preventing Porthos and d'Artagnan from acting on their own account.

 _God bless I was able to save them from committing something really stupid._ He knew thoughtfulness would bring more success than the impulsive willingness to take high risks. 

“Was it worth it?” Suddenly hearing a voice beside him Tréville startled. He hadn’t realized that Athos had joined him at the window. The team had gathered again in his office discussing their plans to free Aramis half an hour earlier. 

“What do you mean?” asked Tréville.

“It's been almost seven hours since they captured Aramis. We have lost precious time to plan his rescue, while you had a meet and greet with the Cardinal.’”

Sighing, Tréville viewed him from the side. “It was not lost time, it was desperately needed time to organize some things.” _And to wait for the agreed signal,_ he added to himself. “You know that the Cardinal is the _éminence grise_ and driving force behind the Résistance and the link to de Gaulle's government in exile. When he gives an order I have to obey. The meeting with the Allied forces for the relief of Paris was of the utmost urgency…”

“Aramis is the utmost urgency,” Athos stated dangerously quiet.

Tréville, absent-mindedly rubbing his forehead trying to get rid of his headache bothering him since the afternoon hours, sighed again. He had never expected that it could have been Aramis who was the first casualty of his core-team. He had always known from experience that the most gifted marksman was a cat with nine lives. Since they’d first met, Aramis had always managed to break free from the most perilous situations and survive the fiercest battles.

 _But not today,_ he thought grimly.

“You are right.” Tréville nodded, crossed his arms. “I am in command, you trusted my judgment and I disappointed you. It is up to me to estimate the risks and costs of such a mission. You know I tried to keep them as low as possible,” he answered straight up with a hint of missing confidence. “Believe me when I tell you that I am as concerned as you that Aramis didn’t return, but you have to trust me, I’m working on it, too.”

Athos scrutinized him with his ever stoic mien giving nothing away. “It was not your fault. The Nazis have been planning this for a long time. But this doesn’t answer the question, why exactly had this mission gone so terribly wrong.”

Nodding, Tréville turned around and let his eyes wander over Porthos and d’Artagnan, who were sitting around his table with resigned faces. He really didn’t know how many times they had asked the same questions over and over again knowing that there wasn’t an answer.

“How could they know which rooftop Aramis would take as his sniper’s nest?” d’Artagnan phrased one of his thoughts.

“More interesting is who else besides us knew something about it?” Athos asked sharply, letting himself sink into the third chair. He tiredly stroke his face with his hand. "Who the hell in the garrison betrayed us? It must have been someone from the inner circle, the trap they set up for us was too clever to be a coincidence."

D'Artagnan twisting his mouth made big eyes. “You mean, one of us is working with them? It can't be.”

“Not necessarily from the garrison, but the Résistance has different groups running and at least Louis knew about our mission.”

“Seriously, you’re telling us that Louis had betrayed us? That is ridiculous, Athos.” Tréville was stunned how violently he was reacting to Athos' accusations. Of course he knew Louis was the person where all threads were bundled, but he was pretty sure that the King would never betray his own Résistance group. 

But Tréville couldn’t prevent suspicion arising inside him and the thought that there might be more to Aramis' arrest awoke. What information could Aramis give the Nazis that the disproportionateeffort was worth it? And how far would the Gestapo go to get the information they thought Aramis had? _Could it be...? No_ , he refused to pursue this thought any further, _it simply could not be true, there must be another reason for it._

“I am slowly but surely losing my patience,” growled Porthos. “We can sort that out later. And whoever betrayed us, I will personally break every bone he has. Now the most important question is where have they taken Aramis and how can we get him out of there?”

 _If he is still alive_. Tréville rubbed across his chest, right where his heart was, and felt bitterness because time was short. “They must have taken him to the Gestapo headquarter but what they're gonna do to him anyone can only guess,” he sadly answered Porthos' question. 

“This can’t be happening. Is the whole situation really getting worse?” D'Artagnan looked back and forth between his brothers and the Captain, eyes wide. 

“Then it's damned about time we make a precise plan, things can’t go on like this.” Porthos slammed his fist on the table and opened the next round of the discussion.

 _Where the hell is that signal?_ Tréville turned to face the window again and glanced at the dimly lit main building. Two years ago it had been like an absolute stroke of luck that Dr. Lemay had offered the Résistance the use of the top floor of an adjacent building opposite the main building for setting up the Headquarters for their military branch. Since the beginning of the war this pavilion had been used as a sanatorium in the field of medical care, which had increasingly gotten worse as of late. 

The administration of the hospital had tried to bring together all those patients with any kind of mental disabilities in one place. Therefore, the so-called ‘lunatic asylum’ became a small enclosed world of its own within the regular hospital's everyday life. Since the world resembled a madhouse at present, Tréville had found this place extremely suitable. Especially for the _Inseparables,_ as the quartet was called by everyone. The top floor had become much of their home by now and they had started to live in the old patients' rooms more or less temporarily. But the real advantages were obvious: There was no other place in the world than a hospital where people could come and go unsuspiciously at any time of the day or night. And at the end of the day the unpredictable and daredevil-like nature of ‘his guys’ gave him often enough the impression that he had ended up in a nuthouse. _What am I then? King of fools?_

Lost in thought, he watched intently for what he was so desperately waiting for, only marginally noticing another fierce discussion erupting about what to do next.

“...and I still think that my plan of all possibilities…”

“No,” simultaneously answered two voices.

“D'Artagnan, we will- and please take notes- certainly not jump out of an airplane and land with parachutes on the roof of the Gestapo,” answered Athos, with a clearly annoyed undertone in his voice. 

The young man snorted in response and seemed to have understood Athos' tone after all and was wise enough not to further explain his plan.

“Exactly. Because that would have never worked, pup, but I owe you respect. It could have certainly been a spectacle- just like the machine gun salvos they’re gonna send towards us,” Porthos teased d'Artagnan. 

Turning back his attention to the Musketeers and their discussion, Tréville looked at d’Artagnan, judging his pale face and the dark rings around his eyes. He knew how much the events of the last hours had troubled him- _like all of us,_ he thought depressed. The youngest member of their group shrugged resignedly and didn’t push his plan further.

“Well, then we all agree that we…” Porthos didn’t want to lose the thread.

“No, Porthos, no way.” This time the annoyed tone of Athos’ voice turned into something like a subtle barb. "We're not going to steal a Wehrmacht tank and crash into the headquarters. We couldn't get anywhere near the building without getting caught with an Anti-tank gun."

“ _Putain de merde_. Do you have a better plan, Monsieur ‘Comte’? Then now would be a good time to share it with us ignorant non-experts,” Porthos saucily answered. Although bringing up Athos’ old story was nasty, Tréville knew that Porthos’ sarcastic tone was solely due to his concerns for Aramis’ well-being.

“Well, we could…” Athos began, but Tréville didn't listen. He turned around, staring with frayed nerves out of the window. 

_There. There it is._ Relief flushing through his body and mind when he saw the red light shining in the highest window of the west wing turret, and for the first time that evening, Tréville smiled. _Louis had finally sent the agreed signal._ “I have someone in headquarters who is able to help us,” he said with a meaningful smile as he turned to his men.

“...and that is why we should activate our contacts with the Allies, then we could…” bending over a map of Paris laid out on the table, Athos interrupted his sentence. Suddenly there was a deadly silence in the room. “What are you saying?”

Three pairs of eyes penetrated Tréville. D'Artagnan looked at him as if he were the Angel of Annunciation himself. _Oh, especially he will not like what I have to say,_ Tréville thought. He now looked at Porthos, who seemed more like a wild bull, ready to attack the red cloth. Athos' eyes dangerously glittered, making clear that everyone of the involved persons in this room shouldn't say anything wrong.

 _Well, unfortunately I have no other choice._ Tréville, one more time running his hand over his forehead, sighed and felt his headache getting worse. His plan was more like a daring exploit than a well thought-out calculation, so looking at every one of his men, he prepared himself for the following conversation which neither he nor they would like.


	7. Chapter 7

The Commissioner waited until the guards had pulled Aramis from his chair, dragged him roughly up the three small steps and out of the interrogation room. He attentively watched how the prisoner, despite his obvious exhaustion, tried to keep up with the pace of the stormtroopers by walking on his own feet.

The Commissioner shook his head in amusement while stepping out of the former chapel into the hallway and continuing to look at Aramis. _I wonder how long it will take to break you..._

For Thernes, it was always a please to seek the limits of human Résistance. And he despised these vermins, with whom he was forced to deal with everyday since he had taken command of the Paris headquarters. Thernes knew all too well how weak and fragile the human body was, and how usually only a few hours under his interrogation would not only break a person physically, but mentally as well. But the last few hours he'd spent with the sniper had tested his own strength- for as of yet, he'd failed to produce results. This left Thernes with an uncomfortable feeling, one he didn't want to address, for deep down he was sure he felt respect for this man, Aramis.

While Aramis was disappearing round the corner, Thernes looked at his watch. 

_Quarter past eight, my guest will probably be here by now_ , Thernes hurried back quickly into the cloister’s auditorium. The sun had long been set and only weak yellowish lamps illuminated the pathway through the gardens. If he had a sense of romance, he would probably have liked the atmosphere the old monastery disseminated. But The Commissioner was not interested in these unnecessary details.

He climbed up the stony main stairs leading from the assembly hall of the first floor. At the top he swung right into the old administration wing. He had set up his office in the largest room in the back, which had formerly been the Priors' private room. He appreciated the two-sided window facade providing him a view of the old alleyway leading to the center in the city as well as of the forecourt of the monastery.

His secretary was still present, and immediately got up when the Commissioner came through the door. He appreciated the fact that this young woman was busy as a bee.

“Ah! _Liebes Fräulein_!” Thernes greeted her graciously. “You haven't gone home yet?”

“No, I was just finishing putting away the files of the new prisoner and getting your uniform ready for tomorrow. It's already hanging in your office.”

“Thank you.” Thernes bowed gallantly with a little smile.

“Did you make any progress in the case of the sniper?” his employee asked.

“Unfortunately not really.” The Commissioner could not prevent his voice sounding slightly regretful. “I have already begun the extended interrogation, so it won't be long before he talks.”

Still annoyed, he thought of the impudence this man had shown. The very fact that he dared to speak to him like that and in such a situation, scratched the facade of his mind behind which he always tried to hide his inner monster. When he had shown Aramis the photos, he had been sure he had cracked the skin of his roasting pig and it could be removed from the fire.

 _Oh yes, I had driven Aramis into a corner. I could see it in his eyes._ Still, the little Résistance rat had evaded Thernes and he couldn't figure out how. Actually he hadn't intended to punch Aramis, but because his clear victory had been snatched from him, his anger and disappointment had driven him to do so. He was still a bit embarrassed that the sniper had irritated him so much that he had lost his temper. _I had lost it, not Aramis._

At least the loss of this much blood had dampened the prisoner's cheekiness a bit. The inflicted pain and obvious suffering of the man inducted by him put his spirits into a flight of fancies. _This_ _is_ _the right way, I can feel it._

“He is now in the lower cellar to have a little…” The Commissioner was looking for the proper word not to unnecessarily worry his secretary. “...cool down.” But he couldn’t hide his perverse delight. He immediately noticed the young lady knitting her eyebrows and looking worried for a moment. This lasted only for a second, then the young woman smiled non-committal. 

“Tomorrow he will be willing- for sure,” she comforted him.

“You're quite right,” the Commissioner confirmed. He looked toward his office door with a raised eyebrow. "Is my guest here?"

“Yes, Commissioner. The gentleman arrived a few minutes ago. I ushered him and opened the wine so it could breathe.”

“Thank you, my dear. We're done for today, go home, you deserve it!”

“Thank you, Commissioner. I'll clear the desk and order the guards to get a bite to eat. I will also order the chapel to get cleaned so everything is ready for tomorrow. I will come as usual. Good night,” she said, but Thernes wasn’t really listen anymore. 

He opened the door to his office. The man he had expected was already sitting in front of his desk, two wine glasses, the opened bottle and a basket of sliced white bread arranged on it. Thernes was grateful for his thoughtful secretary.

“ _Heil Hitler_!” The Commissioner saluted with an exaggerated gesture, which was absolutely superfluous in this private context. And Thernes was almost childishly pleased when the man immediately jumped up from his armchair, clicked his heels together and answered the German greeting with a stretched out arm similarly forceful. _Ah, it is wonderful how easy it is to manipulate him, isn’t it?_

“Sit down, my good man,” The somewhat irritated man took a seat behind Thernes’ desk while the Commissioner filled the two wine glasses.

“Thank you, Commissioner,” said his guest, much more relaxed.

Both took their glasses and silently drank a few sips of the exclusive wine. Thernes, watching the man carefully, had the feeling that both of them came from the same stock. No doubt his mole must have a considerable amount of ruthlessness, otherwise he could not have been able to betray the Musketeers that easily. _Well, it doesn't matter why he did it, as long as the result is correct._ Thernes took a last sip of wine before addressing him.

“I thank you for your cooperation, your information was very precise and there were no incidents whatsoever during the arrest. Have there been any difficulties on your side?”

“No, the _Inseparables_ didn't suspect a thing, everything went as planned. I'm grateful for your gratitude, my data is always correct, you know that.”

Thernes observed how his counterpart shook by the pronunciation of the word “Inseparables”, and this reaction amused him very much. “Of course. I was just a little disappointed that the photos didn’t work as supposed. That didn’t really impress the little creature.”

“No? Hm, his reaction was unpredictable, I was so sure it would work. Did you consider any alternatives?”

Thernes grinned maliciously. “Of course. What are you thinking? I'm not going to let such a precious catch slip through my fingers... if you know what I mean.”

“Most certainly.”

For a brief moment the Commissioner sensed a gleam on the face of his counterpart of the same ruthlessness and lust for blood he always felt when thinking of the methods of extended interrogation. “But I hope that he actually has the information I need,” Thernes added icily after a short pause. He really hated it when he didn't have things in his grip and therefore had to rely on other people.

“I am absolutely sure. And don't worry, the man is a poser, cock-sure of himself. Thinks his pretty face suffices to impress others. I promise, he is weak, you’ll bring him down with the right arguments.”

“I hope so... for your own sake.” 

Thernes noted that his counterpart had understood the threat due to his puckered brows. _Did the man really believe that I am stupid enough to trust him?_ Abruptly the Commissioner stood up, thus forcing the informant to stand up as well.

“Then I bid you goodnight.” For Thernes the conversation was over.

The man in front of him was no more of immediate use, and a short wave of his hand was enough to dismiss him. Thernes wasn't quite sure if the little traitor had really told him everything, but that didn't matter anymore. He waited until the man had left his office and sat down again.

Less than twenty minutes had passed since he had left the interrogation room, so he still had some time left before devoting himself to the sniper again. But before that, he had to finish the letters for Berlin and synchronize his lists. He worked calmly, single-minded and focused, as he always did. After three hours when a stormtrooper knocked on his door telling him that the course of the sniper's treatment had to be finished too soon, he had most of it done.

 _Business before pleasure._ Grinning,he went to the ground floor full with anticipation.


	8. Chapter 8

Aramis was too exhausted to defend himself against the iron grip of the two stormtroopers pulling him roughly out of the bloody chair. Without any resistance, he allowed himself to be dragged up the small steps into the cloister. 

Through the nearly milky glass of the ogival leaded windows, the twilight seemed to be giving a farewell. Aramis registered the green of the ivy and the friendly almost romantic old facade of the building opposite. For centuries people had stayed here to pray, and words of faith had led them through their lives directing all their prayers and feelings towards God. Aramis, feeling sheltered by this thought, was pushed by the stormtroopers through a small iron door down leading into the cellar.

Struck by a mouldy smell, it was difficult for Aramis to breath and to see as the passage was lit with weak light bulbs, carelessly wired into the wall. The passage was narrow, old stone stairs and unplastered stone walls testified that they had entered the ancient foundations of the monastery probably dating back into the 14th century. It must have been two storeys deep before Aramis was roughly forced to stop by the stormtroopers. They pushed open a heavy almost tiny wooden door and thrusted Aramis into an equally tiny room.

“Appropriate for a dirty rat like you, right?” a stormtrooper taunted.

The windowless cellar was long and narrow, and the floor was sloppily tiled with dirty-brown sheets. The stormtroopers let him go and Aramis, hardly keeping on his legs, stumbled and sank to the floor. He crawled painstakingly to the back wall far away from the entrance as possible. Pulling his feet as close as he could with bended hands up to his body he leaned exhausted side wards. The room didn’t have any light and after the stormtroopers slammed the door locking it from outside, it became pitch black. Gratefully closing his eyes, he let his head drop on his knees and fell asleep.

_What the hell…?_

He had no idea how long he had slept, it had only seemed a few minutes, but that didn't matter anyway. When the ice-cold jet of water hit him, Aramis' head snapped up. The water jet hit his bruises with pinpoint accuracy and almost tore the bandage off his hands as they desperately protected his head. Gasping for air he pinioned himself against the wall trying to escape the pressure of the water wetting him from top to bottom. After a short time, however, the water started collecting, because it couldn’t drain.

“Enough for now, the dirty rat should be clean,” mocked the stormtrooper.

After the wooden door had fallen into the lock again, Aramis was able to gain control over his senses. His whole body was shaking, partly because of the cold water and the stony room, partly because of the still heavy pain in his limbs. The water had also soaked his leather pants so he could hardly move.

Nothing penetrated the darkness. Letting himself fall sideways, Aramis almost fainted and closed his eyes. Now lying in the three-quarter inch high water it dawned on him that this was the first opportunity to drink something for a fairly long time.

_Well, at least this problem is solved for now._

Aramis moaned, stretching his aching body he scooped up the precious water and held it in his hands. The water smelled like stinky gauze bandages and tasted like blood and sweat, but he didn't care. Relieved by every ice-cold sip, Aramis huddled against the wall.

Aramis must have fallen asleep again. Suddenly startled by another jet of water he awoke, the pressure of the water repeatedly took his breath away and he felt the small remainder of warmth leave him.

After the stormtroopers had finally turned off the water, a glaring beam of light forced Aramis to close his eyes. They had placed a powerful spotlight on the threshold. His eyes aching, he tried to turn away but his stiff limbs wouldn’t allow it. The light dazzling him even behind his closed eyelids, Aramis buried his head in his arms. At least the biting cold had numbed the persistent pain.

The stormtroopers knew exactly what they were doing.

Water- light- darkness.

Cold- pain- confusion.

The precise rhythm of sensory deprivation and overstimulation took its toll and Aramis’ mind started to wander to places he kept buried. He couldn't control the downward spiral his mind took, leading him to that cold morning in the forest where the snow was tainted red by his brothers and the crows scavenged the dead. A presence of evil permeated the cell. Aramis could smell the snow-cold forest as if it surrounded him. He stared at the dead ravaged faces looking back at him from their fresh graves in the snow. No matter how hard he tried to chase the images away they kept reappeared.

_Please, let me be...no, don’t leave me, Marsac...it is so cold, is it snowing? God, it hurts._

His thoughts spinning around circled him into despair. After hours it became more and more difficult for Aramis to gain back his physical and mental condition and he was no longer able to fight against the darkness luring within.

“ _Scheiße_! Get Kleindienst...and Dr. Rausch!”

His mind rifting far away and detached from reality, Aramis heard one of the guards giving frantic orders.

“Go! Go! Help me!”

Aramis felt himself being lifted up and put down again but his mind refused to make any further investigation. Wherever they took him he did not care. 

Slowly, Aramis' senses fumbled for a way through the fog of unconsciousness into the here and now. He noticed that he was no longer in the cellar, but in a small, barred former monk's cell lying naked on his stomach. He had no idea how or when he had been undressed. Aramis tried to move, but he couldn’t. He could not tell what was worse, the pain of his body or the exhaustion of his soul. He was so tired and just wanted to sleep, he was sure not to be alone- but he didn’t care.

“I told you, Commissioner, you should have been easier on him. This subject is reaching its limits and I don't know if I can mend him to the state you need him to be,” came Dr. Rausch's voice into his consciousness.

Aramis realized Thernes was crouching beside him.

He hadn't noticed where the Commissar had come from, but he could feel a hand touching his hair. Aramis expected more pain, a blow or at least a rough pulling up, but instead Thernes unexpectedly stroked his head gently. As the hand moved further down, almost caressing his muscles and following the contours of his body, Aramis suddenly became aware of his nakedness. He tried unsuccessfully to pull back from the hand he hated so much.

Forcing his heavy, tired eyes open Aramis stared into the clear, greedy eyes of the Commissioner. A shiver of horror run down his spine realizing immediately Thernes hadn't emptied by far the full repertoire of his abilities to torture. This variation of cruelty and abuse had not even remotely entered his mind, and he cursed himself for his naivety. The Nazi's touch irritated his throbbing bruises, but it burned his troubled soul like hellish fire.

Aramis swallowed desperately, he really didn't know if he would have the strength to endure this kind of torture without losing his mind. Suddenly, his two musketeer horses entered his thoughts, dignity and identity, and the image of the two flying freely, far away from all this despair and humiliation, settled his troubled mind. He decided to be prepared for what came to come, even if he had no idea how. It was almost more than he could bear feeling the Nazi's hand laying on his bottom and his lips touching his temple, gently breathing a kiss on it and hearing a hoarse voice whispering into his ear.

“My dear, tell me, where have you built up your sniper’s nests? Where is your King hiding? Hm?”

Realizing he was helpless in the face of Thernes' invasive approach, Aramis felt nauseous. He decided at this moment that he couldn’t leave it as it was. Flexing his fingers and strengthening his body despite his exhaustion, he prepared for fighting and he wouldn't stop until this scumbag rejected his intention or the fight for his integrity took his life.

_That might even be the best choice._

***

Thernes had not missed the change in Aramis' expression from pure fear to strong confidence. He had clearly recognized that Aramis could hardly endure his touches, the tension in his body and the sheer horror in his eyes when it became clear to the sniper what other cruelties were possible. And again, Thernes had been sure that he had broken Aramis’ mind, that he had broken through the bastion of this man's inward resistance. _But this little bastard got away,_ _again_ _._

Involuntarily, the Commissioner started to have a kind of budding respect for him, but it also began slowly but surely to annoy him. The game had been quite fun so far, being varied and surprising, but although almost midnight he still didn't have his urgently wanted answers. _This is infuriating._ Thernes wondered that his infallible instinct for a man’s strengths and weaknesses seemed to fail. 

Snorting with frustration, Thernes stood up shaking his head in disbelief. He had not really expected any answer from Aramis but at least it was worth a try. He turned to Dr. Rausch.

“For how long?” he asked the doctor sighing with the self-pity of a child being spoiled with pleasure.

“Hm…,” Rausch pondered, “I would say four hours, at least. That should give him enough time to recover, and there would probably be nothing in the way of further questioning.”

Thernes looked at his watch and nodded. It was 11.40 pm and he was indeed tired. He had forgotten how exhausting it could be to break a person’s mind. Some hours of rest would do him good. _Perhaps, I could pay this tantalizing german cocotte a short visit- what was her name, Elsa?_ The interrogation of Aramis had been challenging as well as exciting. In every sense an easing of all tension could probably increase his motivation for what was to come.

“Very well,” Thernes turned now towards Kleindienst, who had after escorting Aramis watched the scene through the open cell door from the corridor. “We'll start the next extended interrogation at six o'clock, let him sleep. A guard at the door should be enough. And for God's sake, get him a blanket and clothes, we're not barbarians here.”

***

With these words Thernes left the old monk's cell and a few minutes later Aramis, sighing with relief for he was now really alone, dressed himself in brown, narrow woolen trousers and a shirt of the same color that was left for him. He had even managed to wrap himself in a heavy, gray military blanket that had also been left. The small room had no cot and the old stone walls and floor were bitterly cold, but Aramis felt sincere gratitude for the time off allowed by the Gestapo. He curled up into a fetal position and pressed his back against the wall. As cold as he was, the water had reduced the many swellings and bruises somewhat numbing the pain. Aramis found himself safe for the moment. As soon as he had allowed his tension leaving him he instantly fell asleep.


	9. Chapter 9

"Aramis,” Constance called softly.

The early morning had brought a little gray light through the window into the small cell. Joyful bird's twittering announcing the approaching spring, fell through the thin glass. Aramis didn't react. Constance was sure the few hours of respite Thernes and his Bloodhounds had granted him hadn’t been enough to recover. Sighing, she suspected that he might have a mild fever, because under the skin, discolored by the blows of that dirty bastard Kleindienst, she saw his cheek glowing suspiciously red. His bandages around his wrists looked dirty and filthy and ragged and his hands seemed swollen.

"Aramis,” once again Constance tried to lure him out of his agony.

He did not react so she crouched down on the floor next to him. When he finally opened his eyes, she was relieved. Constance saw his difficulty coming around but after some seconds a tiny smile appeared on his lips. She couldn't help but run her hand tenderly over his sticky curls, finally laying her fingers gently on his pale, warm cheek. _Fever, as I suspected._ Aramis closed his eyes again, pressed his head against the palm of her hand in a childlike gesture. She was filled with deep sympathy as he stifled a sob.

Constance leaned even further towards him giving him a kiss on his blood-crusted forehead.

"Oh Aramis. What have they done to you? I'm here, shh...everything will be fine...somehow." Constance tried to comfort Aramis like a mother calming down a completely distraught child. She caressed his head and put her arm carefully around his shoulders, clearly feeling the shivers that ran through his body. He seemed so helpless that it hurt her heart at the bottom. 

Constance knew he had recognized her immediately when he had arrived in the small assembly hall yesterday and she had played her role as the eager German secretary well. For seconds their eyes had met, but Aramis had been quick-witted enough to look passed her. He had known for sure that he shouldn’t give the Gestapo the slightest hint that they already knew each other. Although in shock of the unexpected encounter, she had managed to go ahead unnoticed with the meticulous writing down of the arrival of the youngest prisoner. But Constance, feeling a flash of fear, had assumed that the mission d'Artagnan had told her about must have failed. She worried about d'Artagnan but even more about Aramis, because she knew what it meant to be taken in by the Gestapo. She had had to witness more than once which cruelties Thernes and his men were capable of. 

Because of her grandmother, Constance knew the German language from an early age, which made getting a position as a spy for the Résistance easy. Due to many different people and very good relationships, Louis had succeeded to place her as a secretary at Gestapo Headquarters. The really well done counterfeit papers and letters of recommendation had put her above suspicion. Nobody except Tréville, Anne and Louis should know about her dangerous spy activities in the Gestapo because of the high risk. They decided to build a “cover story” for her husband and the rest of the Résistance members: She put on working in the German Trade Delegation to assist the French economy.

The first decisive step in her life and therefore, in her dangerous mission, had come when she had met and began to love d'Artagnan. He had introduced her to Athos, Porthos and Aramis, too. The _Inseparables_ knew about her membership of the Résistance, however they had no clue about her true activity. Later, when it had dawned upon almost everybody that she had fallen in love with the youngest member of the Musketeers, she had had to make the most solemn promise to the initiates not to acquaint d'Artagnan with her true activities. But telling him and the others lies had been really difficult.

Constance was amazed at herself how professionally she had managed to play the naive secretary in the Gestapo Headquarters. Due to the use of her charm she was able to win the trust of the stormtroopers and even Thernes’. Bringing a cake from time to time, sewing on a button or reading wishes on their faces even before the men knew what to wish for- Constance had skillfully made herself an indispensable spoke in the wheels at the Gestapo headquarters and for now, everyone in the building relied on her organizational skills and strong nerves at any given time.

In the course of time, the Nazis didn’t even bother hiding or glossing over their activities from Constance, because she was always able to pretend to be discreet and professional. In truth, she suffered massively under those circumstances. She couldn't deny being sometimes on the verge of giving up and just going underground. The people’s fates who had fallen into the grip of the Gestapo touched her every time deep in her soul, because it was her duty to file all the documents corresponding to death certificates. But thinking of the big picture, that there will be a liberated France was worth going through all these troubles both mental cruelties and heartaches. Information gathered over time and carefully passed on to the Résistance had repeatedly proved to be of utmost importance.

Constance suspected that Aramis must have been completely surprised by her unexpected appearance, since he knew nothing about her secrets. But she just continued to press him gently against her chest waiting for him to calm down. From the very beginning, Constance's relationship with Aramis was marked by friendly camaraderie, his legendary charm never more appealing than for many other women coming and going in his life. Nevertheless it just felt right to comfort him in that way.

“Try to sit up. Wait, I will help you.”

Moaning in pain, Aramis hardly managed to rest upon his hands. Finally sitting halfway straight in front of her, Constance took both of his hands and laid them carefully in her lap. She loosened the bloody bandages as carefully as she could, ripping them off harder than she wanted to because of blood crusts. Aramis only grimaced, but otherwise managed to keep his hands still. Washing his wounds with water from a Lavour she had brought with her, she stopped fresh bleeding by finally bandaging his swollen hands again. They didn't speak during the whole procedure, but Constance noticed that Aramis kept looking at her with a mixture of complete amazement and deepest gratitude. 

Constance, carefully fixing the end of the new linen bandages, reached into the pile of the unused bandages.

“I have an apple for you.” Constance knew that during the first phase of interrogation, prisoners usually had to starve. But Aramis’ fingers were probably too swollen, because when he tried to reach for the apple, he could not hold it. Following a spontaneous impulse, she separated carefully some pieces with her teeth and held them directly in front of his mouth.

“I'm sorry, I can't give you any more, in case you… later…they would notice...” Constance didn't manage to finish the sentence, because due to her experience worse things would be waiting for him. Nodding while he slowly chewed, Aramis looked with an understanding gaze into her eyes. “Aramis, you have to be brave, they will…” 

“No,” Aramis interrupted her softly, putting his fingers awkwardly on her mouth. “I don't want to know, please.” His desperate whisper tore Constance’s heart almost apart. At that moment, this previously strong man seemed unexpectedly fragile and vulnerable, like a child worth protecting. She bent over until their foreheads touched gently and embraced his neck.

“Oh Aramis, I am so sorry. They put me in with Thernes and we simply couldn't risk letting more people than necessary know- please forgive me for lying.” _And above all of them d'Artagnan_ , she thought full of remorse. “But we're gonna get you out of here, I promise you. We're gonna...”

Constance was startled when Aramis suddenly stiffened, and trying to escape her light embrace jolted backwards. He actually reacted more fiercely and visibly angry than his condition allowed.

“Certainly not. You will do nothing. I was stupid enough to let them take me in as a prisoner. We don't serve these bastards more Résistance’s members on a silver platter.”

“You think it's your fault you're here?”

Aramis did not answer but looked at her meaningfully with slightly raised eyebrows.

“Aramis, are you crazy? Whatever happened out there, Athos, Porthos and d'Artagnan will leave no stone unturned to get you out of here, they will never abandon you, you know that.”

Aramis sighed and immediately his anger seemed to vanish. 

“But they shall not. They must not…Constance, everything went wrong out there, there was only one way to save them. I gave up my sniper’s nest and I walked right into their hands, but the only thing that kept me going until now was the thought that I could save them by doing this, you understand? If they come and try to get me out of here then all of this would be...” Aramis made a vague movement with his hands “...all of this would have been in vain. Because they can't. There is no way to free me, except with a suicide squad. They must not risk their lives to save mine.”

Constance was shocked. D _id he not know that his friends would do anything for him?_ She didn't understand why Aramis was willing to lay down his life for them but apparently wouldn’t allow them to do the same in return. Wanting to tell him her opinion, she suddenly recognized the sad and almost desperate look on Aramis' face.

“I don't know if I can endure all of this,” Aramis muttered. He bit his lower lip and Constance put one hand on his shoulder to show him support. “Honestly, Constance...I'm scared. I will try to bear the consequences for my actions, but to do so I need to know that they are sound and safe- there is no other comfort for me here other than that.” Aramis’ voice sounded hollow and powerless as he continued. “I'm afraid to fail. I fear that sooner or later Thernes will break me and I’ll give him all the information he wants. I can only try, no, it’s my duty to delay it as long as possible so you all have time to seek shelter and move the garrison…But please, don't let them do something stupid. Promise me."

Constance was deeply moved by his words. Somehow she understood, from his point of view his considerations probably even made sense. She was completely aware that what Aramis was experiencing right now was one of his most terrible moments in his life. She shared his concern, because she had seen too many people break under the torture of Thernes. 

But from the bottom of her heart she was convinced that Aramis was stronger than he thought he was. Believing in him, she had faith in the power of the brotherhood of the _Inseparables,_ too. They would never let another down, as hopeless as things may appear. And Constance knew for certain: _This is the moment._ The moment for which she had worked towards for the last years. The moment which had made her endure all the suffering she had experienced in this place: _I am the ace up the Musketeers’ sleeve_.

“Promise me,” Aramis begged her quietly once more.

Sighing, Constance looked at Aramis with a mixture of sadness and confidence until she finally nodded. “I promise you, we won't do anything stupid.” And she didn't even feel like she was lying to him. _We're not gonna do anything stupid, we're gonna do the right thing._

Closing his eyes, Aramis breathed out deeply. “Please tell them...tell Anne…”

This time it was she who pressed her fingers on his lips and prevented him from going on. “You'll tell them in person, Aramis,” she said with as much confidence in her voice she could find. Aramis smiled in reply, but Constance could see in his eyes he didn't believe her.

“Have faith,” she whispered one last time before she turned her head abruptly towards the door. Standing up, she lifted the Lavour with the bloody bandages. At the very moment she turned around, the door was opened and Kleindienst planted himself in front of her.

“What's going on?” he asked suspiciously, his eyes sparkling with mistrust.

Constance stiffened, closed her eyes briefly, and with a deep breath she became the scrupulous Gestapo employee Kleindienst knew.

“ _Herr Kleindienst_. I also wish a good morning,” she rushed to say, as she approached the Rottenführer. “I changed the bandages on his hands on the instructions of Dr. Rausch, and tried to get the prisoner into a more respectable look,” she said in an almost instructive tone. “We wouldn't want him to appear before Commissioner Thernes so disheveled, would we?”

Kleindienst was silent for a moment and let his eyes wander from the Lavour with its bloody contents to Aramis and back again.

“Of course not, _Fräulein Konstanze_ , you are absolutely right,” he calmly agreed with her. “Even if I think it's a waste of effort for this son of a bitch,” he barked and looked scornfully at Aramis.

“Mr. Kleindienst. Watch your language,” Constance rebelled against him stroking his cheek teasingly, as a governess does with a naughty child. _God, I hate this man._

“Of course, _Fräulein Konstanze_ , please pardon me.” Kleindienst bowed slightly to her. He offered Constance his bent arm to join him, but instead she pressed the Lavour into the hand of the stunned Rottenführer and walked quickly past him through the door. She didn’t bother to turn around, knowing Kleindienst had followed her.

  


  



	10. Chapter 10

Leaning against the wall of the monk’s cell, Aramis lowered his head to hide his anger which had completely replaced his fear. He could hardly believe this scene that had taken place in front of him. Within seconds Constance had slipped into the role of the assiduous German secretary and misled Kleindienst about her true intentions. Obviously Constance was risking her life every day, possibly in a more dangerous manner than he or his brothers would ever do. Oh, yes, he knew instantly why d'Artagnan loved this woman so much. Even furious about Constance debasing herself to beguile a man like Kleindienst, Aramis kept his control.

Kleindienst glanced briefly at Aramis. “See you in a minute, you dirty parasite,” he stated before spitting on the floor and slamming the door behind him.

His mind wandering back to Constance as a completely unexpected godsend, Aramis still couldn't understand that she was right here. It didn't matter that she had hidden her activities as a spy for Louis. He understood only too well that this damn war demanded a sacrifice of everybody, all too often at the expense of trust and honesty. But Constance’s comfort had been like a sweet balm for his soul, and those few moments with her had given him a bit of strength, and a feeling of not being all alone in this cursed place.

When Aramis looked up, the break of dawn had lit up the cell and it would not be much longer before he had to face the darkness of hell again. Only a few minutes later Aramis heard heavy footsteps. Slowly standing up and leaning with his back on the wall, he faced Kleindienst and three other stormtroopers.

Kleindienst grinning sullenly, didn't react further. Nodding, he ordered his men to take Aramis between them and bring him through the cloister back into the interrogation room. This time they didn't go through the first glass door leading into the official part of the chapel, but straight through the one in the back directing him down three steps into the shabbier section. Thernes was already waiting for him, sitting on his usual roll-chair looking relaxed and rested, despite the early morning hour.

The stormtroopers placed Aramis on a chair and handcuffed him behind the armrest. They tightened the cuffs regardless of the bandages on his hands and wrists.

The room had a higher temperature than the rooms Aramis had spent the last few hours. For the first time he was warmer except for his bare feet feeling the chill of the old stone floor. But the warmth flowing through his body could also be due to the beginning fever, Aramis did not know for sure.

“I see you've had some rest.” Thernes watched him from top to bottom and nodded contentedly.

“ _Fräulein Konstanze_ has taken care of this vermin, just as Dr. Rausch instructed her,” Kleindienst completed Thernes' thoughts.

Abruptly Thernes stared at Kleindienst on the stairs. “ _Fräulein Konstanze_ is already here? She has spoken with Dr. Rausch?”

“Yes, Sir.”

Aramis noticed for a moment a peculiar expression flashing across Thernes’ face as if the Commissioner was irritated by Kleindienst's answer. Seconds later all was gone, and Thernes turned to Aramis again and engaged him in a casual conversation, as if this situation was a perfectly normal thing in the world.

“Well, if you're feeling better, we can continue our conversation, if that's what you want.” 

_Not really_ , thought Aramis, but he suppressed his answer, merely keeping eye contact with Thernes. The way the Commissioner asked and sighed gave away that he in fact didn’t expect an actual answer from him.

“All right, let's try it again: Where are your sniper’s nests in Paris?”

Aramis, remaining silent, was not even willing to think about an answer.

“Where is the King?” Thernes tried again.

Aramis curling his lips rebelliously maintained eye-contact with Thernes. Of course, this was a deliberate provocation against the Commissioner, and Aramis knew it was probably the last thing he should do. Since Constance had indirectly confirmed Thernes was not running out of options for cruel interrogations, he knew that his refusal to talk only gained time to serve his brothers. _But that will do_. 

Thernes puckered his lips with disgruntlement, tilted his head and examined Aramis attentively. Aramis knew he probably offered a miserable picture. Feeling the throbbing bruises in his face and chest he was exhausted to his core. Greasy curls fell into his eyes and the lurking fever sent cold waves through his body. Savoring the sight of him, Thernes seemed strangely aroused.

“I see, again we aren’t really making no progress at all,” Thernes dryly stated. “You need a more vigorous impulse, don't you?” The rhetorical question, asked in a neutral casual tone, expected no reply. Thernes chinned to Kleindienst.

Seeing the dirty grin on Kleindienst's face, Aramis carefully suppressed the concern that rose in him again. The Rottenführer was pulling a knife out of a holster and approaching him. Kleindienst's expression was a mask of malice as he placed the long, sharp weapon directly against Aramis' sternum, increasing the pressure more and more. Feeling the knife’s blade cutting his skin as if it was made out of paper, Aramis flinched involuntarily back.

“That’s it.” Kleindienst instantly released the pressure. At one blow with the tip of the knife he cut open the buttons of the brown shirt. Aramis could feel a small trickle of blood running down his now completely bare chest, but he refused to look down. Gazing into Kleindienst’s eyes he could at least guess what awaited him. He braced himself for what was to come and swallowed his emotions as Kleindienst stepped behind him. The Rottenführer merely removed his shackles, ripped off the shirt and harshly dragged him to one of the thick stone pillars. Aramis' arms were snatched and handcuffed to the iron rings fixed to the column.

It was an uncomfortable position, especially since the base of the column was wider than its capital. His cheek was pressed against the rough stone and his gaze drifted down. _Merde sacrée, it’s blood, not rust_. Sucking in air Aramis involuntarily tightened his muscles.

Forced by the bondage to look at the nailed-up window front, Aramis couldn't see what Thernes was doing behind him. He only heard him rolling back his chair and the curtain hiding the alcove being pushed aside. Thernes clattered and rattled with objects he couldn't even imagine what they would be for. Aramis had a bad premonition the Commissioner was putting him on tenterhooks- W _hat a damn pun_ , it shot through his mind.

Thernes seemed to have finally found what he was looking for, because Aramis almost physically felt his heavy steps moving towards him. His tension rose.

Feeling this bastard pressing up against his back Aramis desperately but unsuccessfully tried to escape the pressure of the hated man. _No, please, not this..._ Closing his eyes he arched his back to get away.

But Thernes moved his head closer, breathing into Aramis’ ear in a salacious voice, “One last time- tell me: Where are your hiding spots?”

Aramis owed him the answer less due to his impudence but more of his horror when suddenly Thernes straighten up. _Thank you, Lord, for taking this cup of poison away from me._ Waiting eagerly what Thernes might do next to Aramis’ surprise nothing happened for now. Seconds became an eternity and fear gripped his soul like a dark spider’s web. Desperately closing his eyes he pressed his cheek against the cold stone, his heart racing. By now every breath felt like a witness of his vulnerability and unknowingly his lips formed a silent prayer. _Santa María, Madre de Dios, ruega por nosotros pecadores ahora y en la hora de nuestra muerte..._

The pain cracked like lightning, overwhelmingly violent and sharp and it felt as if his skin would be torn from his back, leaving bare flesh behind. Aramis hissed and tried to suck in air. When he finally managed to inhale, the next stroke of pain covered the previous one. His nerves being on fire, Aramis’ mind searched feverishly for an explanation for this sharp pain. Three more blazes of pain followed and Aramis bit his lips in order not to scream loudly, nevertheless a low rumble found its way. Finally, it was over. Aramis pressed himself against the column as tight as he could, clenching his hands into fists and laboriously trying to gain control over his breathing. Warm blood running down his back the pain pulsed in the rhythm of his heartbeat.

Aramis' whole body trembled, whether from shock or pain in his back, he didn't know nor care. His back was an exploding battleground and he desperately wished that the flaming burn of his wounds would stop. He didn't notice that Thernes had moved and suddenly stood within his sight, the bloody stick or whip- _What the hell was that_?- swinging loosely in his hand. 

***

Aramis couldn’t have known that an ox pizzle had just left five finger-thick, partially torn ligaments in a vague star shape on his back. He couldn't have known how much Thernes loved this form of interrogation, especially since _Der Führer_ had personally let him shoot one of his precious aurochs. The high aggressiveness of the animals had indeed turned hunting into a very special event. Thernes had been allowed to kill a magnificent bull that day and after eating parts of the blood-soaked, warm liver, he personally removed the penis, which was over 1m long, from the carcass and took it to one of the best taxidermist in Berlin. The latter had carefully dried and prepared it, not without first flattening the glans so that it had finally almost razor-sharp edges. The other end of the long ox penis was carefully wrapped with leather straps to create a smooth grip. Thernes was always thrilled by the different uses of the ox pizzle and every time he touched it, it became his personal German totem by invoking the bull's power and virility.

***

The Commissioner leaned closely over him, and feeling his breath Aramis saw the wide open pupils of the man that gave his face a devilish expression. 

"And now, my dear little soldier, now you will tell me where exactly the six trucks went that night or I swear, I will skin you alive," he whispered into Aramis' ear.

Aramis, completely confused, thought he had missed something. It took a few moments until the meaning of Thernes’ words veiled by pain had made their way into his consciousness and when he finally understood, Aramis' heart almost stopped. _It could not be._ _How…why is he asking about this particular night? And how does he know about_ _the trucks_ _?_ Aramis, hit by the bitter realization that he had been betrayed by someone among his friends, lost his ground and this thought almost hurt more than his tortured body.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you want to know what an ox pizzle looks like:
> 
> https://deacademic.com/pictures/dewiki/80/Pr%C3%BCgelbock_00136.JPG


	11. Chapter 11

Constance needed every ounce of her willpower to maintain her daily routine after leaving Aramis in the small, cold cell.

More frequently, she was ordered to clean the prisoners after interrogations and bring them food and water based on the argument that the Reich should not be degraded neither by the lack of their neatness nor integrity. She only spoke German with the poor people, her cover-identity could not under no circumstances be compromised. She feared a desperate and hopeless prisoner might beg her as a loyal compatriot to help her. _Let them consider me a German whore, as long as they accept my help,_ she sadly thought. But each time her heart was torn apart.

Looking at Aramis half an hour ago, defeated and sitting in front of her nearly at the end of his limits, Constance had swallowed her tears, which kept rising and burning from the bottom of her heart. Preferably she wanted to help him immediately and without any hesitation, but she knew that she had to keep a cool head. This was the most difficult thing she had ever done; leaving Aramis behind in his poor shape, knowing that hell was still waiting for him. Constance was sick with worry and uncertainty, she nevertheless forced herself to think about which work needed to get done.

So she played her part as she had from the beginning. She knew she had to proceed cautiously and not attract any more attention. Visiting Aramis in the old monk's cell had been extremely risky. Kleindienst had believed her blatant lie that Dr. Rausch had commissioned her, but she was not eager to push her luck any further.

The next hour Constance smiled and flirted with the storm men. She delivered crispy croissants, bought in a small bakery that somehow managed to keep the business running. She started with her daily routine, sorting her mail, distributing urgent dispatches to the right recipients and making the obligatory coffee. She had already ordered to clean up the interrogation room yesterday. G _ood Lord, Aramis had lost so much blood._

Shortly after Constance had joined the Gestapo, she had quickly convinced Thernes of the importance for her own room where she could archive the many files being constantly added, as well as store various things. Upon her suggestion, he had assigned a room in the attic, in which not only files and office materials were stored, but also- as she had pointed out – she could, in some peace and quiet, air out blankets, clean and iron clothes or Thernes' shirts for when high military personnel were expected to visit him. This argument in particular made sense for the Commissioner. So he let her be queen in her little kingdom, without ever setting a foot into it. 

The small room in the attic of the monastery had three small dormer windows, two of which she regularly used for just hanging out tablecloths to dry or to dedust wall flags. She never used the front window, because this was only used for the agreed emergency signal that she could send to the King or Treville, if she urgently needed help. She knew without any doubt that Louis let somebody observe the window especially after Aramis‘ cover had been blown. However, last evening hanging out the large red tablecloth with the small, distinctive swastikas, she had sent up a quick prayer.

Nearly an hour later walking down the stairs from her attic to the office, Constance saw eight stormtroopers regaled in full armor marching in strict order toward the inner courtyard. _No! They can't be here so soon!_ She quickened her walk, heart pounding in her chest. These men meant she was running out of time, and she'd now have to rush her plan.

***

Earlier in the darker morning hours, the Musketeers came together in Trevilles’ office. The atmosphere was full of concentration and tenseness. Each of them prepared for the upcoming mission like going into battle, the battle for Aramis‘ life. 

Athos had tried to get some sleep, but in vain. In the canteen of the sanatorium he had finally found half a bottle of wine and after emptying it, he had fallen into an uneasy doze. _Sleep is overrated anyway_ , he thought rubbing his eyes and leaning heavily back against his chair next to Treville’s desk. The revelation of their Captain, learned late that evening- that Constance had been working as an agent for the Gestapo- had thrown them into an abyssal turmoil. However each of them had dealt with it differently.

Athos knew, that Porthos didn’t show much of his feelings. As a street child from an early age, his brother was always used to intrigues and power games of rival gangs. Porthos had told him, that it didn't bother him much that Treville hadn't acquainted him with anything. For him, the only thing that mattered was the out-comings, namely Aramis‘ liberation. 

D'Artagnan had not been amused about Treville’s confession. _Poor pup, I can understand him_ , thought Athos. It was always bitter to feel betrayed by someone one loves unconditionally, but times like these require great sacrifices from each of them. However, unlike Athos‘ ex-wife, Constance seemed as a person to always put the welfare of others over her own and act good with her heart despite the consequences. Athos was sure, if Constance had been able to tell anybody about her work, d'Artagnan would have been the first to know. He could only imagine how difficult it must have been for Constance to keep this secret during all the weeks and months while having an affair with d'Artagnan. Though he was sure sooner or later d'Artagnan would understand and forgive her.

For Athos it was more difficult to forgive Treville. Athos saw his captain’s lines of worry and all the sadness covering his face buried even deeper during the last hours. He felt a sting in his heart while he thought about how the King and Treville had not let him in on this secret, but as a strategist himself he understood the decision they had to make. The less people involved, the least risk taken. _Still, we are the Musketeers, he should have trusted us!_ Athos shook his head in disbelief, later he would have time to deal with questions of personal sensitivities. Right now they had to concentrate on the execution of Aramis’ rescue plan.

“Porthos, what exactly did you not understand,” Athos grumbled impatiently, because Porthos asked again and again how the time frame of the rescue plan could exactly be calculated. Athos was aware that the plan was highly precarious and risky, but there was simply no better one.

***

D'Artagnan stood at the window only half-listening to the dialogue among Athos and Porthos. He saw his reflection in the dark glass pane and through it. Before his mind’s eye, the picture of Constance appeared.

_Why did it hurt so much when Tréville was telling me about Constance and her role as a spy?_ D’Artagnan bitterly thought. He was really proud of her courage, her determination and her absolute loyalty to a cause. These had been among the reasons why he had fallen head over heels in love with Constance. _But why did her secretiveness hurt so badly?_

The grumpy baritone of Porthos brought him back from his world of thoughts. Suddenly he realized now was not the time to think about all the things Constance was hiding from him. It was all about freeing Aramis. But there were so many loose ends: How on earth was Constance going to get out of this? What if the Nazis found out about Constance role in the whole game?

A cold shudder running down his back made him shiver for a moment. Secretly, before turning to his brothers, d'Artagnan wiped with the back of his hand his eyes, which were slightly moist.

***

“You know, _mon ami_ ,” Porthos said sharply, “I understand how it’s going to happen, I'm not dumb. Constance hung a tablecloth out of the window, Louis' middleman, who has been guarding the headquarters since yesterday, spotted it and gave Louis a signal, who in return swung a red light as a sign for Treville. We know that Constance is good to go and she knows the emergency plan which has been worked out for exactly such situations.” Porthos gave d'Artagnan a quick look. “All she has to do now is wait for the right moment to release Aramis secretly and quietly.”

Athos nodded. He knew Porthos wasn't finished with his arguments and that the finale was yet to come. 

“Well, gentlemen.” Porthos took a short break to give Athos, then Tréville a grim look. “How are we supposed to know exactly when Constance can get Aramis out of headquarters and where we'll meet him? She'll hardly wrap him in a red blanket and fly him like a flag on the highest pole at the Headquarters," hissed Porthos, while he glared angrily at Athos.

Athos, reading Porthos‘ mind like in an open book, saw behind the biting sarcasm nothing else but sheer fear for Aramis, and shook his head. “No, certainly not! I don't think the flagpole could support Aramis' weight.” He took a step towards Porthos and continued in a calm tone. “We know the _where_ , the side street behind the church, but we don't know the _when._ Constance, to some extent, understands the interrogation schedule during her stay, and that prisoners are not usually interrogated before six am...that’s something about German pride and rules. But she doesn't know exactly when she'll have the opportunity to free Aramis, so we’ll just be patient and wait near the main headquarters’ gate until Constance takes down the tablecloth, then we'll know Aramis is on his way,” Athos tried to explain the procedure to Porthos. “We'll give her till 3 pm and hold the fort until then.”

“What if we pass 3 pm? What then?” Porthos tilted his head with narrowed eyes.

Athos glanced at him, afraid of giving his brother an answer. He felt fear holding his heart in a vice-like grip increasingly tightening.

“If he's not here by three o'clock, he won't come anymore,” Treville gently replied.

For a moment deep silence prevailed, too heavy was the burden for the souls of these men of what was said. None of them wanted to imagine that the worst could happen.

“Aramis will always come back,” Porthos replied looking into Athos' eyes. 

Athos, seeing the deep love and steadfastness radiating in his brother’s face, approached him. He gently placed both his hands on Porthos' shoulder. “I know, my friend, he will.” Athos hoped that he sounded more confident than he felt.

D'Artagnan also approached them, and Athos could clearly see the horror Treville's words had evoked in all of them. The young man placed his hands on the shoulders of his friends thus forming a small, tight circle. For a brief moment they held each other with Aramis‘ absence leaving a painful gap between them. 

“What was it Dumas wrote..? ' _One for all and all for one._ '” Trying to give everybody hope, a feeble smile played on Athos’ lips. His brothers began to smile, too. They nodded and left strengthened with some comfort from the brotherly embrace.

Athos saw Treville watching them with an indefinable expression. He seemed to have sworn the solemn oath with them and Athos knew their captain also believed with all his heart in their mission to free Aramis. He nodded towards Treville and while looking into his eyes, a glance through the windows showed him that the sky and probably their hearts became brighter.

Athos feeling now the hectic pace arising in his mind, knew the moment of truth was here and everything was a stake. “Gentlemen, I think we should start. Porthos, get the car and wait for us at the second main gate. D'Artagnan, you get the rest of our equipment, we’ll meet on the street."

Without any further questions, Porthos and d'Artagnan set off and left the room. While leaving, Porthos turned around briefly reminding Athos once more. “Don't forget your pistol,” he called upon him.

Athos nodded. “Thanks, I won't forget it. It's still in Aramis' room, I gave him the pistol to readjust it the day before yesterday; the trigger got jammed.”

Porthos knowingly smiled, no one could handle weapons better than their marksman.

Athos waited until the door behind his brothers had fallen into the lock and turned to Treville.

“Make sure that Dr. Lemay is ready. I have no idea in what condition Aramis will be, but I assume in the worst,” Athos said in a low voice. _Damn, I hope we are not too late._

Treville nodded. “I will. And Athos- it will work.”

Athos replied with a humming sound and left the room quickly to get his pistol as fast as possible. He trotted down the narrow hallway to Aramis' room and opened the door with verve. Suddenly he stood rooted to the spot.

“Anne,” he said in surprise. The Queen, as he called her secretly, startled and sat there in embarrassment. She must have been crying, because her eyes were red and puffy.

Athos knew every now and then since that night in the convent, Anne had secretly been at Aramis’. She usually came into Aramis' room in the middle of the night via the back stairs of the pavilion and disappeared again before dawn. Reluctantly Aramis told him not to block the back door during these nights, but Athos felt extremely uncomfortable about being part of this affair.

_This whole affair is so decidedly foolish._ Athos' stomach hurt again thinking of all the problems their affair might have caused. Louis was undoubtedly a difficult person, capricious, narcissistic and thinking a lot of himself. It was understandable for Athos that Anne had suffered for years under these bad traits of her husband. Especially since Louis made no secret of his amusements at various brothels or his delight in extramarital relationships. But Louis was one of the most influential men in France, so it was possible he would rise up to the country's leading elite after the war. He was ambitious and determined, with a good portion of unscrupulousness common to all men of power. It became absolutely clear nobody ever would be able to take anything away from him- and certainly not his wife. Athos did not know how far Louis would go if he found out about the affair. _But it would certainly not be very pleasant_.

On the other hand, Athos couldn't help but admit the relationship with Anne was the best thing ever that could happen to Aramis. His love for this woman had changed him, his deep restlessness and agitation was somewhat subdued as well as his erratic nature. Due to his attachment to her he was at peace with himself, reconciling his inner demons.

“I am sorry, I did not know you were here. Excuse me, I only came to get my pistol, it must be here somewhere.”

“No, no, it doesn't matter, really I...Louis told me your mission went wrong and Aramis...” She broke off in the middle of the sentence and Athos saw her eyes glistening suspiciously moist again.

Sighing he shook his head reluctantly. Nevertheless, he sat down next to her on the bed. Suddenly Athos' blood froze in his veins and his pulse quickened. Anne's tears had smudged her make-up and he immediately recognized what she had been trying to cover so carefully. Cold rage spread through Athos, there was little that could stir his emotions as much as what he had just realized.

_ Goddammit , Louis is a bigger bastard than I’ ve thought... _

Noticing A thos freezing, Anne's quiet sobbing came to an abrupt end and she looked i nto his eyes . Dawning of what Athos was concerning, A nne’s hand moved to the bruised spot on her c heek and her eyes widened.

“Louis has probably done more than telling you about the failed mission, hasn't he?” Athos noted dryly and couldn't prevent the ice of his anger from breaking its way into his voice. Pressing his lips together, he prevented himself from possibly saying the wrong thing. Righteous rage wouldn't help them here and given what he and his brothers were about to do, he needed to focus on the essentials.

“You know Louis and his impulsiveness...” Anne broke off, probably searching for the right words to explain the inexplicable.

“Apparently not. How long has the abuse been going on? How often does he hit you?” The words felt like poison in his mouth and Athos had this urgent need to punch something. Instead, he clenched his fists and stared at Anne.

Anne looked straight into his eyes, proud and like someone who had just made a decision.  She was a beautiful woman, even in her distraught state, her fragile physique deceived anyone who didn't know anything about her inner strength. Athos knew exactly why Aramis had fallen in love with her.

“He doesn't always do this, only when he's drunk enough after his binges in the respective establishments of the city. His new circle of friends pulls him down and influences him badly- especially this one guy. But I know it can't go on like this...”Anne paused briefly and swallowed. “Athos, I need Aramis, if he's...if he doesn’t come back…”

“Anne, we are doing everything in our power to get Aramis out of this.” Athos simply answered. This was neither the time nor the place to discuss Louis’ behavior, although Athos was sure, that the final words on this matter had not yet been spoken. He for himself wasn't willing to let Louis get away with it that easily. “We have a good plan and believe it or not, Constance is an agent on the scene and this could actually be the salvation for Aramis.”

“Yes, I know.”

"What, you too?" escaped Athos‘ lips. _I can't believe it_. For a brief moment once again Athos was annoyed by this secretiveness, but he was well aware Anne, as a friend of Constance since their childhood and the King's wife, had of course known about Constance's part. “Anyway, forget it,” he added quickly. 

“You have to bring him back to me! I get insane when I think what the Gestapo could do with him. I can hardly bear it…" Again Anne broke off mid-sentence and Athos could see her obvious despair.

_What am I going to tell her,_ _especially after such a confession_ _?_ Athos thought helplessly. He was the last person in this world who could help a suffering lover. But he understood the worries and fear Anne probably felt as much as he did, and with Constance not here she had no one to confide in- except him.

“Anne. We all feel that way, believe me, but it won't help Aramis if we lose our minds. He's relying on us and we'll do everything to bring him back.” Athos tried to find a composed and secure tone. “Stay calm.” Athos writhed inside like a snake, but facing the obvious truth it was the very right decision. “Aramis will need you when he comes back.”

Anne nodded earnestly and Athos, proud of her, noticed how she took a deep breath and pulled herself up. He arose and reached out his hand to pull her up. Anne smiled bravely and Athos laid his hand on her shoulder, like he had done before with Porthos. They looked in silence at each other and when Athos felt that Anne had calmed down, he began to search for his pistol. He found it on the small dresser, wrapped in a handkerchief. He took it out and stowed it in his holster.

“I have to go now.” Athos felt as if Anne wanted to tell him something else, but as she continued her silence, he nodded one last time and turned to the door to follow his brothers.


	12. Chapter 12

That particular night two years ago, the King ordered Aramis out of the bar.

It was shortly after midnight, he and the rest of the _Inseparables_ had celebrated their first genuine success. They had killed three Wehrmacht officers and several soldiers in an extremely effective operation. Furthermore, they had been able to get hold, without any losses of their own, of a briefcase full of papers about all movements of German troops, and lists of personnel papers of high-ranking Nazis. Euphoric and over excited as they had been, they had decided to celebrate their success. It was a wonderful, entertaining evening, full of the light-heartedness they seldom could enjoy.

“I need a sniper- now.” There was an urgent tone in the king's voice.

“What do you mean- now?” Aramis was confused. He already had had some drinks, so he didn’t take Louis’ request very seriously.

“Now means now. You have five minutes to sober up. I'll wait for you at the crossroads...and Aramis: Not a single word, not to anybody, you hear. Especially not to Athos or Porthos or d'Artagnan, that's an order,” the King continued in a serious tone.

Immediately, Aramis was alarmed. If Louis demanded that he was to leave his brothers in the dark, then there had to be indeed a really important case. And so he nodded, even though he was reluctant to lie to his brothers.

“My rifle?” he said. “I don’t have it on me.”

"I already have it- Treville took it from your room and handed it to me. Now hurry up,” the King told him as he was leaving.

Aramis shook his head in disbelief while following Louis with his eyes. Sighing, he went back into the bar and said goodbye to his friends, vaguely hinting at an amorous night, which he used as an excuse. “Gentlemen, the climax of this wonderful night is yet to come, so I bid you farewell at this point...”

“You're a buzzkill, you know that, my friend,” Porthos rumbled. But merely shrugging his shoulders he returned to the card game. Aramis was relieved that Porthos was rather drunk and quickly satisfied with his explanation.

D'Artagnan, just having poured his heart out to the piano player and feeling sorry for himself for being in hopeless love with a married woman, looked understandably at him and wished him the very best.

Only Athos scrutinized him, and Aramis instantly knew he didn’t really believe the sudden night of love. Aramis was grateful for his brother not saying anything else, but just giving him a short nod. He knew Athos would not inquire him any further, for he was aware of the burden of a secret. Perhaps, it might be due to the second- _or was it the third_ \- bottle of wine, Aramis didn’t know exactly.

A few minutes later, Aramis got in one of the six big trucks waiting with Louis outside, not knowing their freight or destination. In complete darkness they left Paris. Only now and then switching on their headlights, they avoided every roadblock or checkpoint of the Germans, even if it meant changing to country roads over and over again. Being on the road for almost two hours the landscape gradually became more hilly and Aramis could make out in the moonlight accurate rows of vines. Eventually they had reached a glen when the line of trucks came to an abrupt halt.

Aramis had hardly spoken to the driver as he was entirely concentrating on driving in the dark. He still didn't know what this action was all about, especially since Louis had been riding along in one of the front trucks. When they stopped, Aramis saw the King getting out and coming towards him. Aramis took his rifle bag and got out as well.

“Come.” Louis ushered Aramis to the back of the first truck and ordered the driver of the second car to turn on the lights. Louis opened the tailgate and Aramis whistled with surprise when he saw in the spotlight the cargo for the first time.

“I hope you do understand how important it is that nobody ever knows anything about this and everything you see has to die with you, do you understand? The less people are involved the better. When the war is over, our people will need these things.” The King made the importance of the cargo more than clear. Aramis looked Louis in the eyes, perfectly understanding the seriousness of the situation and finally nodded with a sigh.

“I swear. What can I do?”

“You have to secure this road and the convoy by all means. Go further up the hill and don't let anyone pass by. It won't take us more than four hours to pick you up again on our way back.”

“Who's my second man on site?” Aramis wanted to know.

“There is no second man.” Louis shook his head. “You are on your own.”

Aramis raised his eyebrow in astonishment. He was used to carrying out any orders in the course of the Résistance missions all by himself. Nevertheless it was more than unusual and odd that during an operation like this, he should be left on his own. A sniper had to spy and secure in case of emergency, but he needed a man near the securing point to decide whether there is a threat and give the order to intervene.

“No second man, no radio contact,” the King confirmed his plan. “You're on your own, any further person would be another security risk I did not want to take. I hope you understand that under these circumstances...” He made a meaningful gesture towards the open truck door.

Although unconvinced with Louis’ decision, Aramis nodded. Without saying another word he took his rifle and climbed up the slightly steep hill. By the time he had found a suitable place from which he could overlook the small section of the valley, the trucks with their valuable cargo had already left. He now knew what the destination of the trucks would be, and seeking cover he placed his rifle.

The night was bright as the moon shone, in the east the sun was about to rise. Aramis could easily make out the road and the surrounding area. As a marksman, he was used to staying motionless in one place for a long time, so it was not difficult for him on this balmy night under the open sky. All his senses were filled with the smell of wild thyme and lavender, even the scent of growing grapes from the other side of the hill reached his nose. His eyes saw the sky growing lighter and under his body he felt the heather with its firm leaves. The crickets had not yet finished their nocturnal play and Aramis felt how his own soul merged with the soul of his land. A feeling of deep bond and loyalty spread within him like warm delicious wine and he knew that the King had made the right decision. Aramis smiled at the thought that he, too, fulfilled his duty for France. He would help to preserve its history and thus the identity of the people who were interwoven with that, no matter how long the war would last and how uncertain its out-coming might be.

Three dreary hours later, Louis and his men picked him up as promised. When Aramis climbed into the truck, both smiled, for they knew that the Heart and Soul of France was safe now from the henchmen of the Third Reich. When they finally reached Paris late in the morning, as they parted they nodded at each other and never spoke a word again about that night.

***

In fact, Aramis had rarely thought about it, as it didn’t really play a role in the harsh reality of war. Sometimes, however, when the Wehrmacht in their tanks went like rolling thunder through Paris or Germans became overpowering, and the Résistance suffered heavy losses, Aramis consoled himself with the thought that a secret was hidden in a winding cave system that the German Moloch would never be able to get hold of.

Aramis, heavy in the chains, was more than stunned that he was caught up in the past with the events of that night. He was even more shocked learning that Thernes might have been familiar with the whole action. It dawned on him that he was not here by pure chance. It was never about his own sniper’s nests or Louis's whereabouts. Aramis now saw the big picture and his involvement in the events, and within seconds the memory of his father flooded his mind with melancholy.

“Know your history,” Henri D'Herblay had advised his son over and over again while walking with him through Paris or visiting the artifacts in the Louvre.

“If you know your history, then you know where your origins are. You are intertwined with the history of your forefathers, you have evolved from a long lineage of them. Whether you like it or not, they have left their marks on you thus shaping your life and identity here and now. You are as much a son of your nation, a child of your culture as you are my son, boy."

Repeatedly Aramis' father had told him, and even if Aramis did not have many good memories of his father, the memories of the joint museum visits had been real highlights in the otherwise rather problematic father-son relationship. Aramis had loved to look at the wonderful paintings, statues and art treasures in the Louvre, all the precious works of art, saved from the fate of being forgotten and collected throughout the course of the centuries, lovingly preserved and displayed for all to be seen. They were the spearhead not only for France's culture or identity, but for the whole of mankind. 

Standing in front of the open doors of the truck that particular summer night, and recognizing exactly those treasures of the Louvre the King had rescued from the museum in a cloak and dagger operation, he knew that this cargo had to be protected at any rate.

The awareness that Thernes was now extending his claws towards the Heart and Soul of France struck Aramis like the blow of the ox pizzle, hard and relentless. But this time the pain tore his soul apart. Pressing his eyes and teeth together in frustration, he rumbled like a trapped wolf. And in that moment he knew with absolute certainty that he would not allow himself to give in to Thernes. The consequences would be completely unbearable.

Now the time had come to keep his promise and protect the secret of the Treasure of France at any price. To protect it was more important than his brothers' lives or the intentions of the Résistance, more important than his love for Anne or his desire to start a family some time. Now not only the future of his own life or of his unborn children, but rather the future of all children in France, their identity and lifeline nationwide were at stake. At that moment, Aramis knew for sure that he would die here.

  


  



	13. Chapter 13

Stepping back from Aramis, Thernes scrutinized him carefully. His previous words- and presumably the persuasive power of the ox pizzle- showed the desired effect, for Aramis had reacted more vigorously than in all the hours before. The tremble running through his body and his devastated mien had been impossible to ignore. Thernes experienced an excitement rising within, which suppressed all other feelings- not that he had many of them- and he considered himself to have achieved the target of his ambitions. _Nothing and nobody can snatch this triumph out of my hands._

“Good. You obviously know what I'm talking about, that really gets us ahead,” he said as he leaned over Aramis. “I suggest we get on with the conversation and you tell me everything about the exact destination of the convoy.”

The eyes of the prisoner glowed darkly and enigmatically, and suddenly Thernes had the feeling that Aramis had made a decision that he wouldn't like.

“What convoy? I have no idea what you're talking about,” Aramis firmly replied, shaking his head as far as his position at the column would allow.

Thernes leaped backwards as if Aramis had punched him hard in the face. Instantly, his mask of a bureaucrat, which he had displayed in a well-dosed manner until now, finally dropped. The heat of his bottomless malice and fury raged through his body. “Do you take me for a fool? If you please, Aramis, don’t insult my intelligence,” Thernes hissed. “Do you think this is still a game? Hm? Believe me I tell you this is far beyond your abilities. You've done remarkably well so far, I'll grant you that, but do us a favor and just tell me what you know for your own sake.”

While speaking, Thernes approached Aramis again, like a predator who was about to tear his victim to shreds at any moment. His voice was low and threatening and every fiber of his body was taut like a bow. Aramis, swallowing hard, still directed an almost defiant look at him.

“ _Si crees que voy a desvelar dónde ha escondido su corazón el Rey de Francia, estás muy equivocado_ _, ¡maldito bastardo_ _!_ _”_ Aramis replied with a mocking but ice-cold tone in his voice.

Thernes didn’t trust his ears and for a split second he was indeed unable to react. Standing rooted to the spot he almost forgot to breathe and convulsively tried to sort out the response of Aramis. Of all possibilities- he hadn't expected that.

_Damn it, why the hell hadn't anyone told me that this vermin speaks Spanish?_

Thernes felt the exact moment when he lost his temper, but he couldn't prevent it from happening. He spun around completely outraged and thrashed the ox pizzle with full force, hitting Aramis relentlessly again and again. He no longer had an appreciation of the alleged beauty of his interrogations, of well-placed blows and variations in dosage. Right now, he just took out his frustration punishing Aramis for his impertinence and resistance over the last twenty hours and wanted him to scream.

_Why_ _isn’t_ _he screaming?_ Working off his rage and thirst for blood Thernes released his demon within-  _No, I am the demon_ .

“Commissioner! Commissioner!”

“What?” Hot rage pulsating through his body Thernes had to control himself to resist the impulse to hit the ox pizzle right into the face of the stormtrooper, who keenly saluted. Closing his eyes to regain composure, he turned around to face the man in disgust.

“Commissioner! Please excuse me, but this hasalready been twenty-four strokes,” the stormtrooper, who had escorted Aramis from the monk's cell, tried to soothe Thernes' anger with a submissive voice. “There are very precise instructions on how to act in case of extended interrogations. After fifteen blows a doctor is supposed to examine the...”

“I know what the damn instructions say, Baumgartner, you don't need to remind me,” Thernes barked at the petty bureaucrat, but inhaling twice he finally stepped aside. His hand still clasped the ox pizzle tightly, while drops of Aramis’ blood fell on the ground, forming a tiny puddle. The only sound to be heard by now was the agitated panting of Aramis, who almost clinging to the column hardly managed to carry himself straight.

Thernes would have preferred to kill the stormtrooper right away, but instead sighing in frustration, he turned directly to Kleindienst, who had watched the incident with an expression of malicious joy from the rolling chair beside the alcove. “Fetch Dr. Rausch, go on, quick,” he commanded Kleindienst, and glaring at Baumgartner he continued in an eagerly smug tone, “We wouldn't want anybody to think the regulations aren’t not to be followed, would we?”

Jumping up immediately, Kleindienst nodded and gave Baumgartner a dirty look. “By the Führer, you Berlin pencil-pusher know nothing about the art of interrogation. You nitpickers, you are all the same," he spat out and left the room.

Entering the small chapel, Dr. Rausch frowned with a disapproving expression.

“Am I privileged to patch up the pitiful casualties of your escapades?” he asked snippily, as he dropped his doctor's bag on the floor with demonstrative fierceness.

Apparently, he didn't seem amused by the fact that Thernes had lost his temper again. Thernes knew that Rausch didn't have any troubles with his interrogation methods, on the contrary, they usually allowed the doctor to make case studies. Everything the good doctor expected was given to him during these interrogations, be it a living subject to test or a corpse, which Thernes gladly provided. The doctor had indeed acquired insights into the human’s structure of muscles and tissues, a fact which would probably pave the way for a future professional life at the University of Berlin.

“As the doctor on duty, you have to dress the wounds which unfortunately happen to the prisoners during our intensified interrogations. You have to make them able-bodied for further questioning, which I hope I don't have to remind you of,” Thernes replied impatiently.

“I’m not a wizard. Yesterday, the subject’s loss of blood had been crucial. He almost died and it was only due to my medical experience that I had been able to stop the massive hemorrhage. You and Kleindienst were blowing off my warnings about a too short recuperation period. Interrogations of this kind are always like walks on a tightrope. If my expertise isn’t adequately considered, none of you gentlemen should be surprised when the subjects didn't cope with the strain,” Rausch hissed infuriated. 

“That’s unfortunately your job,” Thernes smirked, rubbing his chin with one hand. “The interrogation was probably rougher than usual, but I don't doubt that the situation is beyond your abilities.”

“Of course not,” Rausch indignantly answered, “But I am blamed for it if the delinquent dies. However, I won't let anybody question my reputation.”

Thernes shook his shoulders with indifference and sat down on a small windowsill. The wall behind him separated the old chapel from the cloister with its thick lead windows. He was endlessly bored watching Rausch examining the sniper's back and apparently trying to estimate the extent of the damage caused by him.

“I am surprised, this poor bastard withstood such an astonishingly long time. But I am really not able to understand your motivation for these rather simple interrogation techniques. This place is a waste of my talent,” Rausch muttered in obvious self-pity, but Thernes was completely unreceptive to the doctor's sensitivities. All that mattered was that the captive would be prepared for the next step of interrogation as soon as possible. So he didn’t mind Rausch’s impertinence.

Sighing with resignation, Rausch began to search in his bulging doctor's bag for the obligatory lysoform and the largest swab, which would be without any doubt necessary.

Meanwhile, Thernes had carelessly tossed the ox pizzle into the back corner of the chapel and, like a sulking child, he was no longer interested in the particular game he played with Aramis. It was obvious, he hadn't gained his information yet, even though the little Résistancerat seemed to be at the end of his rope. _It is like being jinxed_. He already hadn't made full use of all his options and possibilities, but this spoilsport of Baumgartner- _I have to talk to the Headquarters about a transfer to Berlin_ \- had interrupted him far too early.

Doctor Rausch was about to dab roughly the sniper's back with a linen cloth soaked in disinfectant. Aramis’ skin was torn from the back and in some places the cuts nearly gaped open to the muscle strands. Thernes was satisfied that the sniper couldn't suppress his moans any longer. For Rausch it became probably either too hard or just too nasty, so he was no longer willing to treat the injuries with the wetted linen cloth, but simply poured the lysoform directly on the prisoner's wounds.

_Well...look at that. He can scream after all_ , Thernes had a perverse delight seeing Aramis' agony, but it quickly faded when he saw the sniper losing consciousness and falling hard into the chains.

"Let it go, Dr. Rausch, I think that’s enough for now."

Immediately reacting as requested, the doctor stepped away from Aramis, wiping blood from his hands. Thernes signaled Rausch with a patronizing nod that his services were no longer required. While the doctor laboriously packed his instruments and left the interrogation room, Thernes ordered Kleindienst to wake up the sniper. Kleindienst and a stormtrooper, who had been standing guard at the door during the whole procedure, unchained Aramis from the column. Heavily slumping into their arms, Aramis appeared to slowly regain consciousness. They dragged him across the room past the chair with the bleeding-apparatus and through the door into the front part of the chapel, where Thernes had had his first conversation with the sniper. Beneath the obligatory red swastika flag, they placed him with force into the chair. They didn’t chain Aramis to the table, as they had done during his first interrogation, because the prisoner had not given a threatening impression.

_All right, let's start from scratch_ . Thernes arose and with a clear feeling of frustration in his mind, he followed Aramis.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you think I'm going to tell you of all people where Louis hid the Heart of France, you're sorely mistaken, you damned bastard.
> 
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	14. Chapter 14

Aramis was unaware how he came back into the chair by the table, but he didn't mind. Breathing was still difficult for him, and he avoided any possible movement as far as he could. Feeling both, everything and at the same time nothing, he was unable to tell which part of his body hurt the least. All aches and pains throbbed unanimously with his heart beat and again, he sensed the familiar metallic taste in his mouth. 

Thernes conjured up two glasses and a bottle of whiskey which he now put slowly on the table. 

“Jameson Black Barrel, Irish Highlands. We confiscated two cases of this distillate from smugglers some time ago. But just between the two of us, not everything has to be sent to Berlin, doesn't it?” he said and poured the golden liquid thumb width into each tumbler. 

Silently Aramis watched him. _Does he really think I give a damn about that right now?_

“What shall I do with you?” Thernes sighed while he leaned back in his chair. Carefully he took off his glasses, and started to clean the blood sprays from them with a small white handkerchief, embroidered in each corner with black swastikas.

 _My blood_ , Aramis noticed irritated. He knew, even if Thernes didn't show any sign of frustration in neither way now, he was annoyed and embittered which made him even more dangerous. The man will not let him get away that easily, he will do everything to draw the desired piece of information from him. For the second time in his life, Aramis felt a fear rising from deep within. He could still hide it, but he had no idea for how long. Slowly but surely, he was reaching his physical and mental limits, but worse than the fear of dying was the fear of betraying everything and everybody he had sworn to protect.

 _Step by step,_ he thought, _I’ve resisted and will do so over and over again._ This had been the Musketeers’ motive during their training and according to this they had discussed thoroughly every action so far. He and his brothers had often imagined what could possibly happen to them if they became prisoners of war. They wondered how long they would be able to resist various torments to happen. Finally they had concluded that it would probably be best just to deal with the situation from one moment to the other. Once this moment had passed, it would never return again and the next one might be already the last one to endure. The best case would be the end of the interrogation, the worst their own deaths. But unfortunately there was an infinite number of possibilities in the range between these two ends. _I suppose they're proud of me, how far I managed with this attitude_ , this bitter thought crossed Aramis' mind. _I'm proving our pure theory in practice…_

“Well, what am I going to do with you?” Thernes repeated.

Aramis stared tiredly at the Commissioner, the sheer unbearable burning on his back prevented nearly every single thought.  _Was this bastard really expecting an answer?_

“Whiskey for breakfast?” Aramis mumbled with a slightly sarcastic tone in his voice before even realizing how difficult it was to articulate with these beaten up lips any further words.

“Exactly, that's what we're doing to do,” Thernes enthusiastically handed Aramis one of the glasses. 

Aramis hesitated for a moment not knowing where the whole fuss would lead, nevertheless raised his swollen hand to reach for it. Still trembling like a leaf, he was unable to grasp it. If Thernes hadn't supported him by elegantly catching the glass at the last moment, it almost felt out of his hand.

“Oops,” Thernes exclaimed ironically, as if Aramis had ventured a circus trick which had failed. “How can I still be so regardless after all we've been through? Please forgive me,” he frivolously said and leaned forward.

Holding firmly to himself not to shrug back, Aramis saw Thernes' smug grin showing him that the Commissioner had detected Aramis' tiny motion. He couldn’t help but think the more he resisted this monster in front of him, the more it was encouraged. _He is completely m_ _aniac_ , flashed through Aramis' mind.

Therefore Aramis was quite surprised by Thernes’ neglectful offer to bring him the glass of whiskey close to his mouth. He wondered if Thernes was fooling him, but a glance into the man's eyes told him that he had nothing to fear, at least not for now.

With a curt nod, Aramis accepted the Commissioner's offer, who, with an almost gentle tenderness, led the glass to his mouth so he could drink. Because of the hot whiskey burning like hell, Aramis flinched and could hardly suppress a hiss as the alcohol ran over his sore mouth. But the warm sensation immediately spreading inside his throat was worth the pain.  _Mon Dieu, that feels good._ Aramis couldn't remember any other moment in his life when he longed for a drink more than right now.

Thernes pulled his chair closer to Aramis' side so they sat next to each other in complete silence, while the Commissioner drank his glass of whiskey sip by sip. For the count of his breath, Aramis allowed himself a moment to relax with relief. The alcohol started to take effect, and since he hadn't eaten or drunk anything for quite a long time, he felt a pleasant warmth rising in his chest. Aramis used this precious opportunity to gather himself for what was to come. He didn't cherish any illusions, for he knew the devil, who lived in Thernes only too well. Perhaps the Commissioner had become tired of his persistent silence and denial, but it was more likely that he had noticed Aramis was almost at the end of his strength.

Thernes, having emptied his glass, bent finally forward. Aramis would have recoiled from the Commissioner's raised hand, who gently removed a tangled curl out of his face. Neither could he prevent this gesture nor Thernes from approaching his ear. “You and I, we both know where this journey will end,” Thernes whispered in a deliberate tone.

Lowering his head, Aramis closed his eyes and felt deep sadness grab hold of him. _Oh yes, I know._ He had known the same moment he had left his sniper’s nest to save his brothers. He had known the same moment he had discovered Thernes’ true intentions. And he had known the same moment he realized what was at stake. Aramis made up his mind, breathed heavily out and looked Thernes straight into the eyes as he nodded.

“Then for one last time: Tell me where the King has hidden the Treasure of France,” Thernes enquired with a threatening tone in his voice.

But again, Aramis remained silent. Knowing that nothing or nobody could any more stop the course of these events, this was his biggest and probably last chance to resist Thernes’ pressure.

Out of nowhere, the Commissioner suddenly jolted backwards, just as if Aramis had spat in his face. Thernes eyes flashed with fury as he smashed the whiskey glass still holding in his hand onto Aramis' head. Aramis gasped and, by the force of the blow, he was knocked from the chair. Like a heavy stone, he hit the floor. His reflexes, numbed by pain and alcohol, were too slow catching himself when falling. Without thinking his trembling fingers tried unsuccessfully to remove the broken pieces of glass from his hair and scalp, feeling warm blood trickling down his temple.

At the very next moment, Thernes grabbed Aramis by his hair and pulled with an iron grip his head upwards. Since there was no strength left in Aramis, he completely surrendered and endured the sheer force.

“Where did Louis hide the Treasure?” Thernes growled with great restraint in a low voice.

All at once being in agony, despair and anger, Aramis squinted his eyes and shook his head.

“I thought so,” Thernes sighed and before taking a step backwards, he pushed Aramis with full force down on the floor.

Once again Aramis hadn't enough strength to prevent himself with both palms from falling and therefore he crashed with his forehead into the stone floor. A new pain exploded in his brain as he lay groggily on the ground. “Well then, you two,” Aramis heard the Commissioner’s voice. “Get the firing squad.”

_So that's now, this is the end of my journey._

It came faster than Aramis would have expected. To a certain extent he was actually glad because the torture would be over soon. But the sharp pain of despair instantly enveloping his soul weighed heavier than the intense physical pain. He didn’t want to die, not here, not now and certainly not like this. He wanted to live, he wanted to love, live, love, there was still so much ahead of him. The power of these overwhelming emotions pulsated in the rhythm of his heartbeat and his pain. As the stormtroopers pulled him from the ground and dragged him more than led, Aramis felt the burning desire for life and love more intense than ever before.

He barely noticed them pushing him through the cloister. Swaying again he tried to grab with his bloody hands the old Gothic column to avoid sinking on the flooring. Every inch of his body revolted against the unavoidable. The soldier within prevented him from collapsing in front of the Nazis, but his soul however froze in fear and his mind could hardly believe that soon he would no longer exist.

All too quickly Aramis was placed in front of a stone wall in the courtyard of the cloister, which once must have been a lovely monastery garden, but was now grotesquely abused as a place of execution. At some time in history lead glass had been inserted into the frames of the corridor windows, but the Gestapo had two of these arches bricked up to prevent bullets from entering the interior of the monastery. Partly his mind was aware that the stains on the old stone walls were covered in dried blood and a pungent smell of metal pierced his nose. However, this was no longer a matter of interest for him. When the stormtroopers let him go, his legs were about to give way, but he nevertheless managed it to gather himself so that he could stay upright.

In a final effort of mental strength, Aramis recalled the image of his two musketeer horses, dignity and identity, for he wanted not to die without them in mind. The knowledge that he was about to sacrifice his life purely out of love for his brothers and the entire nation of France enabled him to overcome the flaming fear. With every breath he took he regained his composure. Aramis silently started to pray in the words he had embraced since childhood, and images of love and devotion for all his beloved ones and gratitude for his fulfilled life swung with them. Yes, he had lived, he had made his decision and now he didn't regret anything.

The firing squad, consisting of eight stormtroopers, had already been lined up in formation of German precision. He assumed that their duty was probably one of their daily routines. Even if an execution might have been an effort of willpower for some of them, their initial reluctance had probably given way to a certain insensibility a long time ago. Maybe his violent death was just as troublesome for some of them as crushing an insect.

“Attention!” Thernes’ command echoed through the small courtyard.

Lowering his head, Aramis closed his eyes and embraced the deep anguish of evanescence. Facing his death, he unleashed his last musketeer horse representing his will to live. Seconds later he whispered his last prayer. “Lord, my soul is prepared.”

“Aim!”

Aramis opened his eyes but didn't look towards the gun muzzles announcing his imminent death. Instead, he gazed heavenwards to the clear winter sky, which already promised the brightness and hope of the approaching spring. The old cross on top of the steeple towering behind the cloister caught his eyes. Shining  golden in the sunlight it promised him eternal peace.  One last breath, one last thought.  Love.  He smiled.

"Fire!"

A volley of gunfire crashed over the old monastery.

  



	15. Chapter 15

Nearly an hour later while walking down the stairs from her attic into the office, Constance saw eight stormtroopers regaled in full armor marching in strict order toward the inner courtyard. 

_No! They can't be here so soon!_ These men meant she was running out of time, and she’d now have to rush her plan. On the spot she turned around and hastened back upstairs.

The morning sun poured through the sloping skylight windows and bathed the old masonry in an orange light. However, having no sense for the promise of a new day, she ran as fast as possible through her attic down the corridor and then down a narrow side staircase to the first floor. The plain small door with rusty iron hinges that creaked like an old wagon wheel, gave way to an ancient wooden spiral staircase leading down into the oldest part of the building. It had been almost completely preserved, but had probably been continuously extended and rebuilt over the years.

_I should have worn the other shoes, they wouldn't have been so noisy_. After having reached the bottom of the stairwell, she unlocked a wooden door and finally stood in the back of the cloister.

The moment the door behind her fell into its lock, a volley of gunfire crashed over the old monastery.

_No! This can’t be…_ Constance felt sheer horror rising within. She pressed her hand in desperation over her mouth, so not to scream out loud, or perhaps to hold back the sickening nausea, she didn't know. At the same time she felt hot and cold flashes, realizing everything was probably over and done with. Panting she leaned back against a column, unsure if her feet could carry her further.

_Mon Dieu, how could Aramis irritate Thernes this much that he has already taken the last resort?_

Normally, the Commissioner took his time dealing with his prisoners, but he was hardly predictable. At least she should have known, or guessed because it’s part of the nature of Aramis’ character to drive people crazy. Constance’s heart started to race and she could hardly breathe. Within seconds, her stomach felt like a giant lump of ice whose coldness permeated her bones and she was shaken by a tremble. All of a sudden, the surroundings became blurred and while thinking of Aramis, who now lay all alone in his own blood dead in this horrible place, she believed she would die any moment, too.

But Constance was surprised at herself that she just kept on breathing. She slowly gained control and with every breath she pushed her sheer panic back bit by bit.

“Get a grip on yourself,” Constance scolded her fearful self and stood up.

Fear was a bad advisor and even though every fiber in her cried to storm away, her mind realized that perhaps not everything was lost yet. She was the key for their plan to succeed, a plan that could still be carried out. There was hope, because she hadn't seen with her own eyes Aramis lying dead in front of her. And once his death was confirmed, at least she would pay her last respects to his soul before his body had cooled down forever.

Moving away from the column and with her teeth clenched, she went into the corner of the cloister.

“The coast seems to be clear,” she sighed in relief. Usually all the stormtroopers went back to their quarters after an execution. Except one guard in front of the only wooden door leading into the courtyard stayed behind. To convince them to remain in their rooms, she had put warm croissants and tea with rum on the tables. _Let’s hope it’s enough._

Constance hurried back to the last arch of the cloister. With the courage of despair, she pressed a small switch hidden behind the frame of the old leaded window and it swung with a quiet click out into the courtyard. Her heartbeat banged in her ears, but she simply ignored the threatening throb. Light-footed, she climbed swiftly over the stone ledge entering the old garden of the monastery. She swallowed hard and forced herself to look towards Aramis. He lay completely still, much too still on his side and the darkness of his blood shimmered in stark contrast to the paleness of his skin. Constance couldn't tell if he was still breathing and she felt tears filling her eyes. 

“Get your grip together _,_ ”she told herself again, and began slowly to approach Aramis, always glancing at the row of windows. She knew that she could be discovered at any time, since the windows of the entire cloister and first floor allowed freeview into the courtyard. If by chance someone was looking out right now, everything would all be in vain. Constance pressed her body firmly into the ivy that had overgrown the entire facade. Fortunately, several windows were also overgrown with it during the years thus offering her some cover while she moved step by step closer towards Aramis, always carefully staying beneath the windows of the cloister.

When she had finally reached Aramis, her courage almost left her again.

_The longer I delay the unavoidable, the more dangerous it will be_.

Constance took a deep breath, pushed all fears and doubts away from her mind and touched his shoulder gently. Aramis winced at her touch, staring in disbelief and horror. Like a storm wave breaking through a dam, a sudden relief flooded through Constance’s body. She felt tears watering her eyes again.

She had hoped Thernes wouldn’t go for an actual execution but rather be satisfied enough by carrying out a mock one. The Commissar loved cruel games. The threat of death was meant to break even the last remains of hope, dignity and self-respect of a human being. Every now and then, when a prisoner made his blood boil or he no longer expected anything from him, the bullets fired from the rifles had been real and deadly. _Thanks Heaven, not this time._

“Aramis, come on- get up.”

Aramis didn't react, but stared at her with shock-widened eyes. He didn't seem to notice her at all.

“Aramis- come on, we have to get out of here,” Constance tried again, and since he still didn't react, she began with all her strength to pull him up. He seemed to be paralyzed, but with all her effort she managed to get his heavy body up into a kneeling position. She saw from his clearly protruding carotid artery that his heartbeat was racing and yet he could catch his breath sporadically. Aramis was bathed in sweat and at the same time trembling as if he was cold.

_I’ve seen this before_ , Constance realized.

Shortly before the Germans were able to occupy Paris completely in 1940, there had been repeatedly heavy combat between the French government troops and the approaching Wehrmacht units. In the course of a street fight, Constance and a number of women and children were trying to seek safety when a grenade detonated close to them. The force of the projectile killed a woman. Her friend immediately crawled to her, she couldn’t believe what her eyes just saw. Constance made clear that they should leave the spot as fast as possible, but the young woman was in a kind of shock at the sight of her dead friend, like a rabbit in the face of the deadly blow. No matter how hard she tried, it was not possible for Constance to persuade the woman to come with her. She was disorientated and frozen and didn’t react. A bullet, which suddenly had torn the stranger's chest into pieces, finally took the decision away from Constance and she at least sought cover for herself. Again and again she pondered over those sad minutes and speculated if she could not have done anything else, but later on Constance understood it was the woman’s own fear that had finally killed her.

“But I won’t lose you like her,” she murmured more to herself. His mind probably couldn’t grasp and process that he was not dead. His body and soul seemed to be frozen, caught somewhere in his own personal hell. Constance shook his shoulders with both hands and constantly tried to make eye contact, to be able to save him from his personal nightmare. Both should leave immediately. 

“Damn it, Aramis, get off your ass,” she hissed in desperation, and shook him again.

Suddenly Aramis blinked. His gaze was startlingly clear, just as if he was actually seeing her for the first time after he woke up again. Constance was surprised when a little smile flickered over his face.

“Constance, watch your language,” he whispered with a rough voice. Constance couldn't help it, she now had to giggle despite the entire inappropriate situation, and without thinking she pinched Aramis. Promptly, the marksman flinched and his smile faded into a grimace of pain.

“I'm sorry,” she whispered reflexively, looking stressed along the rows of the cloister’s windows. Again fear rose in her, for time wasrunning out.

“Please, please come on now,” she urged Aramis. Noticing the slightest hint of movement, she tried to help and support him as best she could. Aramis struggled and got up with a distressed moan. His whole body weighed heavily on her, and she felt the constant trembling running through him. Constance didn't notice her jacket and skirt becoming bloody, she wouldn't have cared anyway, because at the moment everything was about getting out of here as fast as possible.

Constance tried to reckon if there could be someone in the corridors. Since no loud noises could be heard, this was probably the right moment for them to vanish. “Now or never, Aramis.”

She firmly grabbed Aramis’ arm and pulled him the few meters across the courtyard back to the open window. Aramis followed as good as he could and without a word or even a hint of hesitation. He climbed over the stone ledge back into the cloister. Constance took one last look at the execution site. Since she still didn't notice anyone behind the rows of windows, she climbed back into the building, too. 

With a click the window fell back into its frame and Constance sighed with relief.

“I can hardly believe we made it this far. This was the most difficult part of our plan. From now on we can hide in the maze of corridors of the old monastery and for some time we will be safe,” she explained. 

Aramis didn’t respond, but nodded slightly.

“Thernes will soon return for his final act, we have to hurry.” Constance resolutely ushered Aramis to the door leading to the old spiral staircase upstairs. But they did not go up, instead they ducked down beneath its winding steps. At the end of the wall there was ancient wood panelling from the last century, decorated with heavy iron mountings. Constance took out her big bundle of keys and searched for the tiniest one, which fitted into an even tinier, almost unseenable lock, finding it instantly because she had marked it with a small leather strap a long time ago.

_Thank you so much, Benoit_ , shot through her mind while turning the key.

The former caretaker had shown her the rooms of the monastery when she had started her work for the Gestapo. The old man with the weathered face of a sailor had shown her grumpily and reluctantly at first around. Constance had sensed more than clearly that he deeply detested everyone and everything connected with the Germans, for he reacted with an icy rejection to all her attempts to start a conversation. The fact that the Gestapo had taken over and desecrated the monastery, must have weighed heavily on his soul. Now he had had to see a young French woman collaborating with the invaders, and even more so, working for them. This must have been far in excess of what he could bear.

Constance had played her part well in the presence of Thernes. But being alone with Benoit, she couldn’t deceive him any further and had tried to give him a hint who she really was. While she had watched Benoit attaching a swastika flag to a wall in the cloister, she had randomly helped him and started a quiet conversation.

“We all must do what is necessary, _Monsieur_. A people can only survive if they are willing to do the right things at the right time. And if it means handing over houses and homes to the Germans, we must share what we have, so that no one starves, must we not? _À chacun son boche_ - To each his own cabbage."

During her last words, Benoit had stared at Constance with such an intensity that Constance could hardly look him into his weary old eyes. For seconds there had been an absolute silence between them and Constance had seriously feared that she had gone with her insinuations too far, when suddenly a grin had rushed over Benoit's face and he had answered her with an unmistakable tone of confidence.

“Yes, _Madame_ , no one should starve in these difficult times. _À chacun son boche._ ” The old man had waved the red swastika flag with feigned enthusiasm. The pithy slogan of the Resistance, which every member knew and carried like an insignia, featured the typical French humor, as the word ‘German’ sounded very similar to ‘cabbage’.

Benoit then revealed the secret of the convent and had led her to this small door that would eventually save Aramis' life. Since then she kept the tiny key Benoit had given her, like a treasure, well hidden in her master keychain. 

The key worked and part of the wood panelling swung open and revealed a small passageway. Ancient brick walls formed a narrow dark corridor and cobwebs and dust showed that for years no one went through it. Aramis whistled appreciatively through his teeth and Constance was relieved seeing him to be more and more his old self again. He was still trembling, but he seemed concentrated and goal-oriented.

“Aramis, you have to put on shoes and this pullover. The dark passage leads you beneath the church up to a door in the brick wall. When you open it, you will stay in bright daylight, but don’t be scared, it’s a dead end street. The alley is not a bustling one, but if Thernes finds out that you have escaped, they will try to block it. You'll stand out less if you...” Constance paused and took a look at Aramis, “...well, if you're not so obviously…”

She didn't need to finish her sentence, for Aramis understood and with a tired smile he grabbed the shoes Constance had stashed here in case of emergency. Shortly after Benoit had given her the key she’d left some mens clothes, and some women clothes in case they were needed. He moaned softly as he bent over to put the heavy Wehrmacht boots on.

“Let me help you.”

“I’m fine,” Aramis rejected her offer, and Constance watched him put on the shoes and tie them up. Her gaze fell on his maltreated back and she couldn't even imagine the pain he was feeling right now.

Aramis reached for the dark pullover, but for understandable reasons he hesitated to put it on. Instead he closed his eyes and took a few deep breaths. When he opened his dark eyes again, exhaustion and agony had vanished and Constance could see the expression of a complete ruthlessness. Instead of desperation and helplessness, they radiated resistance and the pure will to survive. 

_He really is the outstanding soldier everyone considers him_. She had always had difficulties imagining how this humorous, sensitive and empathetic man could also be an uncompromising marksman, willing to kill his enemies without any hesitation. Constance felt a cold shiver running down her spine and she was glad that this dark side of him would hopefully never turn against her.

Aramis, with a low-pitched growl, pulled the pullover over himself and before he took the small, rectangular flashlight and the black wool cap she was holding out to him, he surprisingly kissed Constance gently on her forehead.

“Thank you,” he whispered in a husky voice. She had the feeling that he wanted to say more, but couldn't find the right words.

“There's nothing to thank me for, Aramis. But now please go, be quick, we both can’t lose any more time.” 

“You're not coming?”

“No, I can't. If Thernes should realize I'm covering your escape… No, I have to go back and keep up the charade as long as possible. But now go, go.” She pushed Aramis into the small corridor. The marksman obeyed and started to move. Constance watched him for a few seconds until he turned around and nodded with a smile for the last time before he disappeared behind a curve in the dark corridor.

Constance sighed in relief.

She scrupulously locked the secret door and ran up the spiral staircase as fast as she could. She hadn't reached the attic yet when she suddenly heard the distinctive alarm and knew that Thernes had noticed Aramis was no longer in the building. She had little time before stormtroopers would flood the whole headquarters. She only just made it to her attic in time.

“Damn it- the whole costume is full of blood,” she quietly cursed, suspecting her face didn't look any better either. But she didn't have any time left, because outside she heard heavy footsteps quickly approaching her room. 

  


  



	16. Chapter 16

“Well then, you two,” Thernes ordered the stormtroopers, “get the firing squad.”

While Aramis was dragged into the inner courtyard by the remaining stormtroopers, Thernes had to admit finding this part of the extended interrogation method most breathtaking, since the outcome was always unpredictable and surprising. Basically, the sniper’s unshaken willpower had fueled the thrill of the chase even more. He truly enjoyed the languorous shiver running through his mind evoked by the thought of leading the man to his mental and physical limits.

_I haven’t felt this good in ages_ , Thernes summed with satisfaction. Admittedly, the last hours had worn him down, too, but the game with this stubborn prisoner was worth a lot more than a good night's sleep.

_But I loathe it to the bones that he had obviously seen my weakness_. Thernes regretted that he had let his usual mask of self-control fall so quickly. What consoled him, however, was the fact that now the prisoner had to deal with completely different problems than thinking about his shortcomings.

The Commissioner placed himself right next to the firing squad so that he wouldn’t miss a single movement of the sniper. Countless times he had already carried out this kind of execution, as a kind of _ultima ratio_ to break even the most obstinate prisoner, and had seen a myriad of reactions.

People screaming and begging loudly in the face of unrelenting death.

People wetting their pants with fear or throwing up.

People crying openly and pressing themselves against the wall with eyes wide open and distorted faces, as if they could escape their fate.

People facing death, paralyzed and mute.

But what all of them had in common, was that subsequently they had given up their resistance and hoped to escape death by revealing all the secrets they had so persistently hidden before. But Thernes had each of them killed in the moment of surrender, and the astonishment on their faces when they recognized the truth and died with this knowledge amused him again and again.

_I am curious what this Aramis will offer me_ , Thernes mused.

The sniper’s exhaustion didn't slip Thernes’ attention, nor that Aramis faced his death standing upright at the wall. Nevertheless, the Commissioner could clearly see the flare-up of fear of death in Aramis' dark eyes and he felt with excitement how his hands were getting sweaty. 

“Attention!” Thernes shouted.

The Commissioner was a little disappointed that the sniper closed his eyes and lowered his head, just as if he wanted to escape the inevitable. _This, my little soldier, won’t work._

"Aim!"

Nonetheless, when Aramis looked up and nothing but self-respect could be found in his gaze, Thernes felt his own irritation like an insect’s flapping wings in a most annoying way slipping through his mind. The fear of death had vanished and the prisoner actually had the nerve to smile as he looked past him to the top of the church tower. 

_Believe it or not, I have your life in my hands, praying is not going to help you_ , Thernes mocked Aramis.

The intensity of the moment had now completely captured Thernes and he could hardly suppress his excitement when he gave the final last order that would probably break the sniper’s willpower once and for all.

“Fire!”

The rifle volley crashed over the old monastery and the loud bangs of the shots, multiplied by the echo of the courtyard, pierced his ears as they did every time. And as usual, it took a few seconds for the delinquent to realize that this was not the end of his life. Thernes stared at Aramis, for he didn't want to miss a single moment, because this moment was the climax of the torture, which he wanted to devour with all his senses.

Aramis stood longer than most others. But even the sniper was brought down by the overwhelming force of the event and fell with a disbelieving expression in his eyes onto his knees.

“I warned you that this game was beyond your abilities,” Thernes quietly mused, and the feeling of satisfaction spread within like oil running down the throat. He felt sublime, godlike, the Lord of Life and Death when he saw Aramis buckling and a single tear running down his bloody cheek. While the sniper fell heavily to his side, Thernes knew that he had won the battle.

One last time the Commissioner looked at the prisoner lying on the ground and added this image like a trophy to the other inner images before he turned away, again highly bored. 

_What a pity, that this climax always passes too quickly_ , Thernes regretted and he felt no desire to watch the man’s struggle for containing himself.

The Commission didn't feel the slightest bit of pity or mercy, but still he couldn't resist to pay a certain respect for the way Aramis had endured the whole ordeal. Out of a spontaneous impulse, Thernes decided to grant Aramis the time to regain consciousness. Even if right now the sniper looked more like a wounded animal, Thernes knew that underneath his obvious weakness, there lay a pure will to live, a fact which he will use for his own purpose.

“Fascinating…” he murmured and turned to the still waiting firing squad. “We'll give him ten minutes, thank you, gentlemen. Dismissed!”

The stormtroopers saluted, left the courtyard and without further ado posted a guard in front of the door.

Thernes made his way back to his office, because he had become a bit hungry after all. When he arrived on the upper floor, he wondered why the always so reliable Fräulein Konstanze was not sitting at her desk doing the paperwork as usual. He was about to call for her when he saw that on his table was already a plate with two croissants and a large cup of coffee.

_One can really rely on this lady_ , Thernes thought, full of delight over the breakfast and sitting down at his desk.

Meanwhile, the morning sun shone through the big windows and bathed the large room in an orange light. The inspector enjoyed the first sips of his coffee, which perhaps had become a bit too cold. Biting the croissant, he leaned back in his armchair and recapped the impressions of the last hour.

The resistance of this inferior Résistance rat still annoyed him, but he had to admit that he had enjoyed beyond all measure the game. Soon he will have all information about the convoy's destination in his hand.

“And then I will personally put a bullet into his damn head,” Thernes swore with a smile on his face.

That thought almost tasted sweeter than pastry which was well-served. Impatiently waiting for what lay ahead, he got up from his armchair and walked with a cup of coffee in his hand to the window. The alley in front of the building was still overshadowed, the morning sunbeams had not reached the ground yet.

Two Wehrmacht soldiers standing in front of the white barred gate turned up the collars of their cloaks to protect themselves from the coolness of the morning. Lost in thought, he watched the quarrel below, for one of the soldiers was obviously at odds with another one about an unheard matter; he harshly pulled the younger back and they began to discuss in hushed voices.

Thernes watched them bored, as it seemed they were settling their conflict.

“Oh Goodness, they are really hugging each other,” he said disgustedly.

During their maudlin embrace, one of them spotted Thernes and at least had the good sense to salute. The other soldier now also comprehended who was up at the window, because the man immediately stood snappy and taut, raising his hand for the obligatory salute.

“You better watch out, such behavior is absolutely unworthy of any soldier who wears the German uniform.” Thernes raised his voice and even if he didn’t want to let his high spirits be spoiled in the light of the forthcoming and probably last, interrogation, he simply couldn’t help himself.

_These two airheads would never dare again to behave like this in public. I will teach them a lesson they will never forget._ Thernes was about to open the window when suddenly the alarm signal sounded shrill and penetrating.

“The prisoner is gone, Commissioner!” Kleindienst rushed without knocking into the room, his face reddened from the effort it must have taken him to walk through the assembly hall and up the main staircase to him.

“What do you mean, gone?”

“Gone! He is no longer in the courtyard, the guard says that he hadn’t left his sentry post and no one has approached the door. All the windows are intact, he simply vanished into thin air,” Kleindienst stammered submissively.

Thernes felt how the exhilaration dominating just a moment ago gave way to an icy rage clouding, for a brief moment, his gaze with a white-hot glow. He rushed towards the door.

“Spread out! Immediately!” he shouted across the hallway and everything was set into motion.

Kleindienst chased after him down the main staircase. Within seconds, fully armed stormtroopers were running through the whole headquarters. Thernes ran to the wooden door leading into the old monastery’s garden and tore it open, roughly pushing the guard in front aside. Breathless for a moment, he saw with his own eyes that at the spot where the sniper had laid a few minutes before, only a trail of fresh blood was left shimmering in the sunlight. The yard was filled with stormtroopers who systematically combed the small area, pushing ivy leaves aside and checking every single window for damage at the hinges or broken glass. But they didn’t find the slightest trace. Kleindienst had been right, there was no way out.

Thernes roared with rage, his mind refusing to comprehend what his eyes had just seen. It was simply impossible that the prisoner had escaped. In the middle of the hectic hustle and bustle, Thernes suddenly froze at a thought crossing his mind that had been irritating him since the early morning hours. He turned to Kleindienst staring at him wide-eyed.

“Where is Fräulein Konstanze?”

“Fräulein Konstanze? But Commissioner, what has she got to do with it?” Kleindienst, confused, responded. 

Thernes glared at him. He hated when he had to repeat a question, Kleindienst should have known this.

“Where she always is? In her attics, I suppose?” Kleindienst stuttered. “Why, sir?”

“Because she was here too early this morning,” Thernes snapped at the slow-witted man. “Can't you see the point? She was with the prisoner at the crack of dawn and now he's gone!”

“But Commissioner! The young lady has for sure nothing to do with the vermin's disappearance, she's a true patriot and I vouch for her. Dr. Rausch has ordered a treatment and the young lady was, as always, doing her duties extremely well, you know that.” Kleindienst defended Constance with surprising emphasis and his voice almost cracked, which didn't escape Thernes’ attention.

_Could I really be wrong? Kleindienst is usually not the type of man led up the garden path by a plain woman,_ Thernes paused briefly.

Nevertheless, the suspicion that his secretary might have something to do with the sniper's disappearance bothered him, even if Thernes couldn't really make sense of it. The young lady didn't know the prisoner, and had never shown sympathy for him. On the contrary, this resolute little woman had perfectly fitted into the German’s institution, despite her French origin, and her references had been flawless. But, she was the only obvious weak point in the whole mess, and he would be a fool not to prove his suspicions.

“You there, come with me,” he ordered three stormtroopers waiting beside him. “Kleindienst!”

They bolted up the main staircase, past the office wing into the second floor and crossed with just a few steps down the corridor to the attic. Anticipating that the room would be empty, Thernes pushed open the door, which slammed with a crash against the wall. 

“I knew it,” the Commissioner triumphed. He saw only dust particles dancing in the light of the morning sun. Now he knew for certain that Fräulein Konstanze was not who she claimed to be.

“Fräulein Konstanze! Fräulein Konstanze!” Kleindienst shouted pointlessly. 

“Yes?”

Thernes could hardly believe that his secretary actually appeared from behind a large filing cabinet. Her neatly tucked up hair had come loose a bit and framed her pretty face teasingly. The buttons of her blouse had come loose and one could actually see the tips of her bra. Clouds of dust surrounding her, she held a pile of files in both hands. She looked wide-eyed at Thernes and his stormtroopers thus making obvious she didn't really know what was going on.

“My goodness, you scared me,” Constance stated. “What has happened? What can I do for you? Please excuse the mess, a whole stack of files has fallen over and slipped under the shelves. Would you like some more croissants? Then I'll be on my way again...”

“No need, thank you, Fräulein Konstanze,” filled with consternation Thernes interrupted her, but also refusing to look closer at Kleindienst, who, he assumed, was smiling smugly beside him. “We are looking for the sniper. Didn't you hear the alarm?”

“Sure, I did. And you think he's hiding here?” his secretary's face showed indignation and Thernes knew he had upset her. 

“No, of course not. But you know that in such a case all rooms have to be patrolled, so please be lenient with me and my men.” Thernes tried to calm her down. If she really should leave her workplace at the headquarters, because he had insulted her, then he had to recruit someone else, and he really didn't like this idea.

“But this was never the case before, how could something like this happen?” the young woman rebuffed. 

Thernes who, for a short moment had the feeling as if she was deliberately rubbing salt into his wound. The young lady was indeed more profound than he had thought. “Of course not, please excuse the interruption and please continue with your work.” Thernes underlined his order with a bow and sweep of his hand.

"Of course, Commissioner. Is there anything else I can do for you at the moment?”

“No, I don't think so, but...you have a stain on your skirt.”

Constance's hands ran dithery up the rusty brown stain. “Yes, I know, thank you! I spilled the tea I brought for the firing squad earlier. Of course I'll clean myself up as soon as I'm done here,” she replied very keenly and smiled. 

The Commissioner checked her once more. _Her loose collar gives indeed a deep insight,_ and nodded generously.

“Kleindienst, comb the building with your men again and alert the soldiers out on the streets. Tell them we have got a fugitive who must be arrested under all circumstances!” Thernes shouted full of uprising anger at the Rottenführer as he left the room. After him a stormtrooper closed the door.

***

The stairs led Aramis deeper and deeper into the cellar and soon he was standing in a really narrow corridor. He sensed the mouldy and feculent smell, a smell that was so typical of Paris’ deep cellars. Since the flashlight Constance gave him had a bright light, Aramis made good progress.

“So we meet again, old friend,” Aramis muttered, greeting the deep cellars like an old acquaintance.

He knew that below the streets there was a ‘city within the city’, a huge network of paths and corridors, whose constructions dated back to Roman times. Even age-old stone quarries and catacombs where the bones of millions of dead were stored still existed here. He himself had repeatedly used the ‘terrible cellars’, as they were called by the Parisian population, to get unseen to his sniper’s nests or to smuggle together with Porthos one or two goods into the city. He had always felt comfortable down here, the cramped space and dampness didn't bother him at all and it seemed like a sign of destiny that the _Kingdom of Darkness_ would now save his life- at least that's what he hoped for.

Step by step without stopping he went on, following the meanderings of the corridor. He tried to ignore the pain pounding mercilessly in his body. He banished the images of the last hours and minutes, which due to the darkness down here constantly unwanted crossed his thoughts. He was still trembling and every breath he took hurt, but he tried to focus his whole mind on reaching his destination, which was somewhere ahead.

“I can make it,” he assured himself, and the paralyzing feeling gave way to a feeling of pure will to survive.

The chance to escape from this hell and to see his brothers as well as Anne, helped him to mobilize his last strengths. This was the fight of his life and he had never ever before, maybe with one exception, come so close to death. 

But the darkness around him involuntarily started more and more to consume the light of his confidence. It had deeply affected him to the core of his heart, being at the mercy of one person and being deprived of any possibility to control or decide anything. He knew that the thoughts of the events of the last sixteen hours would not go away, but right now was neither the time nor the place to deal with it.

“I need to focus. Right now those memories are neither helpful nor necessary,” Aramis muttered and shook his head.

The stabbing headache caused by the motion clouded his vision but helped him to focus and he let the soldier within gain the upper hand again. He only showed this character trait in combat or during his missions as a sniper. Using his pain and ruthlessness to help him focus served him well when he needed to get things done, and gave him the strength to face the impossible: taking one’s life without losing himself during the action. He urgently needed this strength to carry on his bold venture now, despite his shattered body, since every step caused an almost unbearable pain. The soldier inside him, however, made him walk further on, although he had to clench his teeth. 

The underground path now increasingly became steeper and only with enormous effort he continued to stumble forward. Aramis felt the salty sweat burning in the countless open wounds and the longer he walked, the more difficult it became to get enough air into his lungs. He concentrated so hard on every single step he took that he almost ran into the wall that marked the end of the tunnel.

“Thank you Lord,” he sighed in relief and heavily leaned with his shoulder against the wall.

Aramis would have loved to sit down and rest, but he wasn't sure if afterwards he would ever be able to get up again. So he restricted himself only to put his forehead on the cold bricks and, with his eyes closed, trying to gain control over his breathing. Of course he knew he didn't have much time and remembered Constance being pretty vague about the details of the escape plan.

“A door in the brick wall at the end of the path, but no explanation how to open it- that’s hardly useful information.”

Sighing again, he pushed himself away from the wall and looked sideways. Maybe the whole wall was the door, but still the problem remained how to open it.

_Am I in the wrong place, but I can’t remember having taken a turn_ , he felt panic rising inside.

No, Constance had sent him here, so there must be a way out.

He had no idea how much time had passed since his escape, and whether the Gestapo was already tracking him down, but his mind urged him to hurry up. Systematically, he began to explore with his flashlight the brick wall in front of him from left to right and from top to bottom. His heart nearly stopped when the light began to flicker and finally went out.

_Damn it, please not now,_ Aramis hectically tapped the German equipment- _precision work my ass_ \- against the wall and the battery seemed to slip back into place. To his relief it shone again. He tried not to move the torch too quickly and continued his search. Somehow there had to be a possibility to open this wall, a hidden mechanism or handle.

“Here you are,” he said with relief when he finally discovered a tiny hole indicating that there was really an exit from this underground.

He stuck his finger into the hole, but then hesitated to operate the small mechanism that was hidden in the opening because his glance fell on his hand. The linen bandages around his hand were covered with blood and hung from it in parts. In a flash, the memory rekindled how the force of the blows had pushed him deep into the handcuffs with which he had been chained to the column. The bandages must have come loose and the wounds reopened, for the bloodstains were light and moist. Aramis knew if he looked half as bad as he felt, he could never venture as he was now out into the street.

“I would stand out like a pink elephant among the others.”

So he put the flashlight between his teeth to get both hands free. Slowly he began to wrap the linen bandages tighter around his hands, the parts with the fresh blood on them he turned inwards as good as he could. Then he took the black woolen cap Constance had given him, from his waistband and pressed it against the brick wall. The wool got a little moist and Aramis started to clean his face to get at least the crusted blood off his temples. He bent down with a groan and ran his fingers over the bare ground. The dust stuck well to his fingers.

“Better dirty than bloody,” he told himself, and he hoped it would be enough to cover the bloody spots on his face.

He repeated the procedure, this time tapping dust on his trousers, which, as far as he could see, especially at the back, were covered with blood, too. Finally, he pulled the sleeves of the sweater down far over his hands and almost screamed when the rough wool painfully stretched over his open wounds on his back. After he had acclimated, he put on the cap and hoped, with a bit of luck, he could pass as a bleary-eyed construction worker.

Aramis pulled the flashlight out of his mouth and suddenly his numb, still swollen fingers could no longer hold the small light source. The lamp fell with a loud bang to the ground and immediately it was pitch black.

_Merde._

Aramis didn’t waste time searching for the lamp, instead he concentrated on finding with his fingers the small opening again, running them slowly over the wall. He probably had guessed the height and position correctly, because after a brief time he found it. Aramis took a deep breath, held his breath and activated the mechanism. It actually clicked and the wall shifted just a little bit outwards. With both hands, Aramis increased the pressure and the part of the wall could be pushed forward.

“Why the hell does the sun have to be so bright?” he cursed and squinted his eyes. Nevertheless he didn’t waste any time, blinking he forced himself to look into the bright light and stepped out onto the street.

The small alley was narrow, but the rising morning sun flooded the whole area with its light till the end of the street. Nobody could be seen, therefore Aramis hurried up to push the wall behind him back as fast as possible. After he heard the soft click of the mechanism again, he turned around not sure what to do next.

_So Thernes is already searching for me_ , he assumed because of the sirens he heard from afar. They came quickly closer and there was not much time left to get safely in to the garrison.

Aramis felt the same nervousness and tension that sharpened his senses before combat. He tried, slowly and thoughtfully, so not to attract any attention, to walk towards the crossroads about twenty meters ahead of him. 

The sun blinded him, therefore only at the last minute he noticed the Wehrmacht armored car, which came up to him from the side thus blocking his way. He recoiled and blinked again due to the bright light.

With the unmistakable feeling of the experienced soldier, he knew he had lost the battle.

Cruelly, regret and deep despair that he had gone so far and in the end everything had been in vain paralyzed him. Cursing, he tried to find strength to rebel against his opponents one last time. He stared at the two heavily armed Wehrmacht soldiers whose contours he could hardly see against the sun. Somewhere, a third man joined them and Aramis desperately tried to weigh the options left, and how he could fight them off.

_There is nothing I can do_ , he realized when he saw one of the soldiers approaching him, _nothing but put an end to this awkward situation, here and now._

“Better to die in a battle than to be put up against a wall and shot in front of Thernes’ sadistic eyes. _”_ Aramis braced himself and with his last ounce of willpower, tensed his tired body. He would not die without a fight and was determined to take as many of the hated occupiers as possible with him into his death. 

“ _Vive la France_ ,” he whispered. He lowered his head and threw himself on the first soldier like a madman.

  


  



	17. Chapter 17

“Stop it,” Athos snarled.

D'Artagnan looked irritated at his mentor, who didn’t take his eyes from the dormer windows of the Gestapo headquarters for even a moment. They had been watching the worn-out monastery building from behind the car window for already two hours. The sun had risen and bathed the buildings around them in a friendly, bright light that didn’t correspond at all with the dark clouds of thoughts which, like an inner hurricane, held d'Artagnan firmly in his grip. 

_Athos doesn't look well_ , shot through d'Artagnan’s mind as he scrutinized the older man. Dark rings under his eyes marred his complexion, and the way he rubbed incessantly at his eyebrows revealed d'Artagnan that probably behind the stoic facade similar storms of emotions were raging within him. Outwardly, his brother seemed like a sphinx, aloof and distant, but he knew him well enough to recognize that Athos deeply cared for Aramis and Constance, too.

Every minute they sat there in the car passed by agonizingly slow, and d'Artagnan felt like he was beginning to lose the last bit of his patience. Knowing that his brother and the love of his life were so close, and yet so unreachable, and being unable to do anything about it, led him towards his mental limits. Mercilessly, feelings of uncertainty gnawed at his guts. He did not even dare to imagine what ordeal the two of them were going through. 

“Stop what?” asked d’Artagnan, irritably.

“Stop bouncing your foot, the whole car is shaking!”

D'Artagnan stopped immediately in his moving, he indeed hadn’t noticed that his inner restlessness had made its way into the legs.

“God, it's all taking far too long,” muttered the Gascon. If he would have been able to, half an hour ago he would have jumped out of the car and stormed into Gestapo headquarters. But of course he _knew_ that this was just wishful thinking. But sitting here, waiting for Constance's signal- if it came at all, seemed more difficult than any battle he'd endured.

Again and again Constance's face appeared in d’Artagnan’s inner eye; every curl of her hair, every freckle, even the little dimple in her chin that he loved so much. He was truly angry about her, and even offended that she had kept her mission secret. At the same time, when he had realized the scope of her commitment and the courage she had to do so, the anger had given way to a greater concern for her well-being. She was all on her own, playing with the devil’s fire and thus risking everything to get his brother out of his prison, whereas he was just sitting here and waiting. 

_Always just sitting and waiting. I hate it._

Right now d'Artagnan would much rather be sitting with Aramis in this car, he was much better at talking over love's troubled times than Athos. He was sure Aramis would listen and understand how much his wounded vanity on the one hand, and the consuming love and concern for Constance on the other, tortured him.

Aramis for sure would smile and show him, with a twinkle in his eye, how infinitely precious the gift of close connection with a loved one is. A human being becomes whole not in virtue of a relation to himself but rather in virtue of an authentic relation to another human being. D'Artagnan had always admired Aramis’ wisdom and his amazing ability to put love above everything else.

_That’s all surreal, I could lose them both today._ He did not allow himself to think about what possibly could go wrong. The plan to free Aramis was only half-baked and risky even for him, but as Athos had explained repeatedly: They just didn't have any more options and this had to be sufficient.

“Try not to think about what could go wrong,” Athos voice snapped d’Artagnan out of his reflections. “Try to stay in the here and now and don't let your imaginations determine the situation. I know that you are worried and impatient. I can only advise you. Use your impatience as a force, it can keep you alert and focused.” 

Athos' voice sounded both reassuring and emphatic, and it was not for the first time that d'Artagnan wondered if Athos could read his mind. It was a mystery for him how this man sitting next to him in the driver's seat could always pinpoint his moods.

“If it were that simple, I wouldn't need your advice,” d'Artagnan replied, more snippy than intended. 

Athos wasn’t bothered by his tone or he was used to d'Artagnan’s impulsiveness and he didn't mind, for he just kept looking towards the small skylight.

“Do you think Porthos has everything under control?” d'Artagnan now asked more placably. He wanted to be seen as professional as Athos, and it annoyed him in situations like these that he lacked the coolness through experience. But the inner restlessness simply did not vanish; on the contrary, the longer the waiting lasted, the more unbearable it was for him.

Athos hummed again, but nodded, probably as a sign of approval. 

D'Artagnan couldn't do anything about it, his foot tapped again, for nothing seemed to calm down his fiery thoughts and feelings. The car started shaking once more. Athos sighed and gave him a piercing look.

D'Artagnan literally heard the rebuke of not becoming more patient and the disapproval of whether his question was really serious. The Gascon recognized the slight accusation in Athos look and that his mentor was annoyed but understood his worries. But over all there was encouragement that their plan would work.

_Only Athos can give just one look yet say everything._

But d’Artagnan was not willing to accept Athos’ silence. “So, has Porthos everything under control?”

“The answer is the same as the last two times,” Athos answered, “Yes, Porthos has everything under control, relax. The plan is, Porthos waits at the bakery disguised as a worker, while watching the alley Aramis is supposed to step out.” 

“And stuffing his stomach with croissants...” d'Artagnan teased. It was a mystery how Porthos was able to eat in situations like these. That thought alone, of eating something right now, was stomach-churning.

Athos' gaze turned once more to the small dormer window from which hung the red cloth, gently moving to and fro in the cool morning wind of the approaching spring. 

D'Artagnan’s mind started rattling around again when suddenly the crack of a volley of gunfire from the headquarters could be heard. He felt all blood draining from his face and suddenly became dizzy. _This can’t be._ He stared at Athos and their eyes locked. Athos' facial expression seemed to reflect his own sheer panic, and it frightened d’Artagnan even more that Athos didn't even try to hide his worries and fear.

“ _Merde_ , that’s not possible,” Athos hissed.

“ _Mon Dieu_ , Athos, do you think...do you think they got hold of Aramis...” D'Artagnan couldn't suppress the trembling in his voice. He felt his heart pounding up to his neck and an instant cold sweat breaking out. 

“I don't believe anything. It can mean all or nothing, we'll stay at our post until Constance retrieves this cursed cloth.” Athos quickly regained control over his feelings, his voice sounded surprisingly firm and clear and his expression once more gave nothing away.

D'Artagnan noticed that with his emphatically commanding manner, Athos was trying to calm him down, but he could have saved his breath. Nothing Athos could say would quiet down the situation, nothing would suppress his fear any longer. Aramis’ life was at stake- and Constance’s too. “Are you kidding? You just want to stay here and do nothing but wait? They could have just executed Aramis, you know? We have to...” 

“We must remain here and stay calm. We’re not going to be helpful, if we lose our nerves. D'Artagnan, I beg you, trust me when I’ll tell you, nothing is lost yet.” Athos' voice was most intense, and his icy stare underlined every word he said. 

D'Artagnan had the feeling Athos wanted, with all the strength his mind could summon up, to hold him back. He suddenly recognized the beseeching undertone resonating in Athos' voice. But he didn’t care. " _Merde_. It's taking too long, Aramis could already be dead and Constance is all alone in there with those monsters. I won't stay here any second longer, I'll...Damn it, Athos." D'Artagnan pushed open the car door, jumped out and ran towards the monastery gate.

***

“D'Artagnan! _M_ _erde_ , wait!”

_That damn fool is wearing me down,_ Athos cursed D'Artagnan’s impulsivity. He knew he had to act instantly to stop this lad from making the biggest mistake of his life. 

Stunned by this level of youthful ignorance, he wondered if d'Artagnan would ever learn anything from him and jumped out of the car as well to run after d'Artagnan. He caught up with him, but only because the younger man slowed down a few meters before the white Gestapo gate. Athos recognized from his posture that the Gascon hesitated, so he took advantage of the moment to stop him. D'Artagnan tried to free himself from Athos’ grip, but Athos didn’t dare let go.

“D'Artagnan, I beg you. Don't do anything stupid. Whatever you think, we don't know for sure what just happened, and Aramis’ life depends on us to stay calm and stick to the plan.” 

“As if we had a real plan,” d'Artagnan hissed, pushing off Athos' hand from his shoulder. “All these 'ifs' and 'buts', there is nothing concrete about this whole mission except Constance is risking her life and we don't know if it will work out. Aramis could...” D'Artagnan's voice failed. 

Athos realized by the tortured expression in his eyes how his young brother’s heart was unsettled and discouraged.

“Calm yourself. I know you're worried and I know you're frightened. Believe me, I am too, but neither Aramis nor Constance can be helped at this point,” Athos tried to reassure him. “You are a soldier. Be a fighter now, and don't let yourself be carried away by your emotions. Above all, don't lose sight of the bigger picture. Aramis depends on you, Constance depends on you- and I am too. We all need you, your strength and your power. And if it means staying still for now, then we're gonna stay damn still, do you get me?”

Athos saw how d'Artagnan's body suddenly lost all its tension. He put his hands around the young man’s neck and gently pulled the head up until they stood in the middle of the street forehead to forehead. Athos felt the silent sobbing running through d'Artagnan's body. 

“I can't lose them both,” d’Artagnan whispered.

“We will lose neither of them, _mon ami_ ," Athos replied with all confidence he could apply.

Suddenly, Athos had a vague feeling that they were being watched and refrained from the intimate embracing. He glanced over the old monastery, and when his eyes got caught by the row of windows on the upper floor, a few meters above them, his blood almost froze in his veins. Not for a second did he doubt whom he saw, he would recognize him among a thousand others: There stood Commissioner Thernes in person, looking down at them with a questioning look on his face.

_How can this bastard drink coffee while Aramis may be dead in the yard?_ The thought popped into Athos’ head, but he reacted immediately and straightened up.

He forced himself into an indifferent facial expression, elbowed d'Artagnan in his ribs. The German Wehrmacht uniform he was wearing was too small and too tight and hindered him from freely moving around, but that didn't stop him from saluting. Athos looked up right into Thernes’ eyes. Thank Goodness, d'Artagnan reacted as quick as possible and joined the salute. Nothing happened for a few seconds, then Thernes returned an angry expression. As his hand raised to open the window, Athos almost stopped breathing. If Thernes opened the window and addressed them, everything would be in vain.

A piercing alarm sounded, which could be heard all the way down the streets. It shrilled from the headquarters, and Thernes was instantly gone from the window.

Athos hardly had time to exhale in relief, for now it was d'Artagnan who rammed his elbow into his ribs and with a brief gesture, directed his gaze to the top floor of the building. Indeed, the striking red cloth was gone.

“Constance did it,” d'Artagnan exclaimed, and Athos saw from the corners of his eyes how his friend's shoulders slumped.

Athos noticed a smile spreading his brother’s lips, and suddenly new hope flushed his mind and that tiny spark was enough to mobilize all his strength. This was the moment they had been waiting for. Aramis was alive and on his way to them. “Go now! We have very little time left, Aramis should be here any minute.”

Athos no longer needed to ask d'Artagnan to follow him, for the young man was already headed towards the car. Athos felt how all his thoughts and actions changed into the familiar fighting mode, and he allowed it to pull him along and direct him. In no time they were back in the car. When Athos pressed the start key and the heavy, strong engine started roaring, for the first time he had a true feeling that they could make it.

Athos had to take a detour, because the side street behind the church could not be reached in a direct way. He forced himself to drive slower than he liked, but he didn't want to attract any attention while driving past, which was now much more busy. Athos followed the streets and after several curves and intersections he was in the avenue where the main entrance to the church and the bakery was.

“Athos, stop! There's Porthos!” d'Artagnan pointed to their friend, who, standing with a large basket of fresh loaves of bread in front of the bakery, signaled with a raised hand to stop.

Athos stepped on the brake and stopped the car in front of the church. Somewhere behind them sirens could be heard, because the Gestapo was already swarming out.

_Damn, this is close_.

The bakery where Porthos stood was at the end of a T-intersection giving him both a good sight of the alley beside the church where they were waiting for Aramis' arrival, and of where Athos and d'Artagnan were sitting in the van in front of the church.

Athos tried to make eye contact with Porthos who had the best view from his position vis a` vis the small alley from which Aramis should come. Porthos stood completely frozen with his hand raised. Relief flooded through Athos as Porthos suddenly was all smiles. So Aramis was coming, he actually had made it.

“What are you waiting for?” asked d'Artagnan, who had also seen Porthos' face.

Athos briefly shook his head without even taking his eyes off Porthos. “One moment please. Porthos has a better view, he'll give us the signal when we should come.”

And then all hell broke loose. 

While Porthos started to run across the street towards the alley, he signaled them to start moving the car forward. But Athos was puzzled when he noticed that Porthos stopped and the smile on his brother's face faded away. So he pressed the accelerator and let the car slide a few meters towards the crossing. He was blocking the side alley to stop any possible curious people already on the street from staring at the upcoming event. At the same time he and d'Artagnan jumped out of the car. 

“No!” D'Artagnan stopped abruptly and suddenly gasped in horror.

Only now did Athos catch a clear view of Aramis, whose figure unmistakably stood out in the bright morning sun, which flooded the alley. Aramis seemed barely able to stand on his legs and staggered more than he walked. Athos felt deep horror and bitter rage rising within when he saw his bruised face. He looked at streaks of dried blood on the neckline of an oversized black pullover, the blueish-black bruises on both sides of his face, which was covered with encrusted cracks and a pale brown layer of dirt, standing out against his all-too pale skin. 

_Hell, what have they done to you?_

Athos, like Porthos, who by now had joined them at the van, froze for a second in shock and was unable to lift an arm. He could only stand idly by and watch when Aramis suddenly attacked him. In the bright back-light, Aramis didn't seem to recognize them. He just saw German soldiers in full gear who would arrest him again. Athos immediately became aware of what Aramis was about to do.

_The fool, he actually wants to sacrifice himself._

Nevertheless, Athos could hardly believe Aramis was capable of such a violent blow until it hit his face. Athos staggered back and felt blood shooting out from his nose. He ignored the pain, the only thing that mattered right now was to help Aramis.

“Aramis! Stop it! It's us!” Porthos’ loud voice echoed unheard by Aramis, for he kept hitting Athos. Athos barely managed to repel his friend's surprisingly strong but unfocused blows.

“Aramis!”

The marksman still didn't react, he was disoriented, trapped in his horror and seemed to use his last energy to do as much damage as possible before exposing himself to total extermination.

Athos didn't want to hurt Aramis and was content to simply protect himself from the fierce attack. He was relieved when Porthos took a stand behind Aramis, and in a flash put his strong arms around him. Aramis groaned loudly, but there was nothing left to oppose Porthos' overwhelming strengths. His movements lessened and finally they both sank to the ground. Porthos didn't let go of him and Athos rushed forward to kneel beside them, so did d'Artagnan. The car shielded them against traffic on the main street. But sirens were wailing around them increasing threateningly.

“We can't move him in this condition.” Athos could not stop his voice from shaking. It hurt him endlessly to see the desperation and helplessness in his friend's eyes. The sweat in his friend’s face damped the dried blood again and he breathed sporadically and ragged.

“Aramis,” Athos tried to talk to him and put his hand gently on his shoulder. “It's us, come on, everything is fine. Don’t worry.” He gave his voice a soothing sound to secure Aramis, a comfort he desperately needed. Aramis actually blinked, as if waking up from a nightmare and Porthos released his grip. When Aramis didn’t make any attempt to continue his rage, Athos pulled the marksman gently towards him, holding his head in his arms. Carefully, he pulled the woolly cap off and let his finger gently run over Aramis’ dirty, blood-soaked hair. 

“We are here. We’ve got you, _mon ami_.” D'Artagnan and Porthos also stretched out their hands and touched Aramis tentatively on his shoulders. They didn't dare to stroke his back because Aramis flinched violently as they tried.

Aramis, who seemed to have gained his composure, tried to break free from Athos' embrace, but due to his condition he hardly succeeded. 

Athos helped him to get into an upright position and Aramis nodded thankfully. When their eyes met, Athos was shocked by the deep pain and anguish of suffering reflected by his friend's eyes. _What have they done to you_ , he thought in horror and kindly laid his hand on Aramis' cheek.

“It is over,” Athos whispered coarsely. He could hardly avoid that his voice was tainted by the horror gripping him at the sight of Aramis. Tenderly, the older man wiped with his thumb a drop of blood away.

Aramis closed his eyes briefly and seemed to draw strength from his friend's gentle touch. When he opened his eyes again and looked at Athos, they were wet, but beside the expression of agony and pain, a bit of Aramis' self had returned. With an almost unnoticeable nod he showed Athos that he had heard and grasped, all that Athos had put into those few words. 

Athos swallowed hard curling his lips, thus bringing a smile into his face. He would never need more than a deep look into Aramis’ eyes and just a few words to tell his brother everything that was burning on his soul. It always amazed him how well Aramis understood him, even though he practically said nothing.

“We have got you- we will never abandon you,” Athos reassured in a firm voice full of confidence, knowing that Porthos and d'Artagnan would also keep that promise.

“I know,” whispered Aramis with a throaty voice. “Thanks for coming.” Aramis now looked at Porthos and d’Artagnan. All four noticed how in one breath and in the blink of an eye their bond of brotherhood was deepened. They were in fact _les Inseparable_ s.

Another siren's wail abruptly ended the moment of confraternity and reminded Athos that there was no time to lose.

“We have to get out of here,” Porthos insisted in a dark tone, “we're causing a scene and they'll be here any moment.” The big man reached out his hand to Aramis and pulled him up as carefully as possible. Nevertheless, Aramis moaned and cursed heavily, he obviously suffered severe pain. 

Athos also stood up, and then helped Porthos to maneuver Aramis towards the car.

Meanwhile, d'Artagnan had positioned himself in the middle of the T-intersection between the van and the bakery, watching the traffic in the street nervously. Athos was about to open the door of the Wehrmacht vehicle when d'Artagnan suddenly forced him to take cover. 

“Shhh, quiet now,” Athos hissed urgently, and without hesitating ducked behind the car, dragging Aramis rudely with him. The marksman suppressed a loud groaning. 

Porthos crouched next to them and his questioning look told Athos that he had no idea what was going on in the street. Suddenly, a siren started to wail right next to them and a car with a characteristically roaring engine sound slowly past them.

_Merde, they are here._

Athos didn’t dare to look up and ducked down behind the van even more. He pulled Aramis, who had sunk down next to him closer, ignoring his moans. Athos carefully tried not to touch Aramis’ back which apparently caused him the most pain. He felt a slight trembling constantly shaking his friend's body and knew time was running out for Aramis, who urgently needed medical care.

It seemed like an eternity in which nothing happened. No word was heard, neither from d'Artagnan nor from the Gestapo people. After Athos finally heard the usual Mercedes pick up speed again and disappear down the street, he exhaled in relief.

“ _Merde_ , that was close,” said d'Artagnan.

“What happened?” Porthos' voice sounded insecure.

“That was a Gestapo search squad,” d'Artagnan explained breathlessly, “they wanted to stop, but I showed them the good old assault rifle with the Hitler salute and signaled that the alleyway was secured. Luckily, the side street is so small that they believed me when I told them that nobody was here. If they had talked to me, my disguise would certainly have been uncovered.”

“I'd say we're getting out of here as fast as we can,” Porthos rumbled, and carefully pulled the already deathly pale Aramis up. Caringly, he put one arm around his waist to support his injured friend.

“You're absolutely right, my friend,” Aramis whispered. But despite the little smile on his face, he wasn’t able to hide the pain which had been intensified by the crouching position.

Athos opened the back door of the car and Porthos got in first. Together they helped Aramis to sit down on one of the two benches that were mounted parallel to the direction of travel. Athos recognized Aramis didn't lean against the side wall avoiding his back touching anything.

_His injuries we will deal with later when we are safe,_ Athos decided. 

Porthos must have noticed, too. Instantly, he shifted close to their marksman allowing him to lean sideways against his upper body.

Athos, taking a final look at their friend, was satisfied despite everything he saw. It seemed like a miracle that this whole daring exploit, as Treville had called their ludicrous plan, had actually succeeded. They had rescued Aramis out of this hell and that alone mattered. He gave Aramis a nod of encouragement before closing the door of the van and seated himself behind the wheel. 

D'Artagnan was already in the passenger seat, grinning. “Shall we?”

Athos faced him and nodded briefly, “Yes, let's take him home.”

  



	18. Chapter 18

Aramis loved the sea. More so in solitude without the harshness of war, memories of lost loved ones or bigotry and hate pressing down on him. Aramis loved the wide open sense of freedom the sea granted. Especially when a bright early morning sun shone down and reflected off the water’s surface, throwing a brilliant spectrum of colors across its surface in an iridescent glow. As Aramis sat on the beach, miles of empty sand and water peculiarly around him, and with his knees bent up in front of him, he breathed deep the salty sea air as he watched and listened in blissful harmony the powerful waves bombarding the shore. He didn’t care there was nothing natural about this, he was content, and he didn’t want to leave the warm safe haven his mind had created.

The smells, the sounds and the cool breeze that ruffled his hair and whisked away days old sweat, chased away his troubles and brought with them a desire for a new beginning. _This is freedom…_

Freedom. _Freedom?_ Why was that word now stuck in his head?

Something unwanted nagged at him from the back of his mind. A voice? No seagulls. _Where did they come from?_ He looked up, watched as scores of them screeched and chirped as they nose-dived toward the water in a playful manner. But Aramis wanted nothing to do with them or their playfulness. They were interrupting his calm, sedative euphoria.

“Aramis?”

He blinked, wondering where he heard his name this time. He was alone on this beach. Was it the gulls? _No, they don’t speak._

He heard his name again, and this time he concentrated on the waves rolling toward shore, the cool breeze blowing once again…anything to keep him routed here where it was warm and safe and he felt secure. He had no desire to return to the real world and face the pain.

“He’s coming around…”

_Go away seagulls! No, not seagulls, people… Who?_

Aramis closed his eyes tight, tried to keep the voices in his head at bay as he held tightly to his safe place.

“Hey, he’s waking up!” This time the voice was strong, familiar, and enough to draw him toward wakefulness. He’d missed that voice so dearly.

_Porthos. My old friend._

Aramis wanted to open his eyes now, but his eyelids were heavy with sleep and his body now mercilessly throbbed with pain. It was the world he’d been trying to avoid as he hid in his mind. But now the voices were louder, clearer, and he couldn’t hide any longer. He woke with a jolt and realized he was sitting on a stool, his head resting in his crossed arms on the table before him. Hands were now touching him, familiar voices urged him to stay awake, tell them how he felt. Aramis wanted them to shut up, leave him alone. He hurt too much for their comforting hands to be anything but annoying.

_But Porthos… I missed you. And Athos, and d’Artagnan..._

“Hey. Hey, Aramis,” said Porthos again. Aramis blinked up at him standing beside him with a glassy stare- eyes still gritty from sleep. “Are you sure you don’t want to lie down on the couch? It would be more comfortable.”

“No,” replied Aramis, his voice raspy and dry. “Like I said before, I’m fine. And… and… I prefer to sit.” 

Disapprovingly narrowing his eyebrow, Porthos scrutinized Aramis. Aramis knew he couldn't fool his friend, but right now he hadn't enough strength nor desire to declare himself awake. He just wanted to sit and wait for the fire of pain to die down. Porthos didn’t say a word, but finally curling his lips into a tiny smile he approached Aramis and leaned himself like a rock beside him. With his body, Porthos prevented Aramis from falling off the stool, for which the marksman was deeply grateful.

The bright light, which flooded the lower medical treatment room with its obligatory metal cabinets and the green treatment couch in the middle of the room, forced Aramis to squeeze his eyes. The brightness triggered involuntary memories and images of fists, blood, water, cold, pain and even more pain, gun muzzles and above them all the face of the devil. Bloody memories raced uncontrollably through his tormented mind and carried him away. 

“Aramis, it’s over,” Athos squatting beside him laid one hand on his shoulder to support him. His strong, penetrating gaze was enough to soothe Aramis' troubled thoughts and his increased breathing.

“I'm … I'm fine, I guess I was more exhausted than I thought, _"_ Aramis tried to assure his friends. But his intention of hiding away his actual condition obviously failed, because neither Porthos nor Athos made any attempt to move even a millimeter away from him. On the contrary, they increased their supportive gestures. Their obvious tense posture of d'Artagnan and Treville, standing in a distance from the table and closer to the window, revealed that he had probably scared them, too. 

Suddenly the door opened and Dr. Lemay rushed in, placing his doctor’s bag on the next chair with verve. 

“Good morning, gentleman,” the physician greeted those present. “Aramis, I am so sorry. After Treville called me, I came as fast as I could.” 

With an analytical, and empathetic expression on his face which was so typical for the good doctor, Lemay tried to examine the extent of Aramis’ injuries. “Is it possible that you lost consciousness?” 

“He passed out a few minutes ago, just came around,” Porthos reported instead of Aramis to the doctor. “We stabilized him at the table. Laying him down didn't seem to be the best option due to his condition. There’s definitely something wrong with his back.” 

“I see,” Lemay hummed. “First of all, I’ll put you on a subcutaneous drip with saline solution, you are definitely dehydrated. I'm also going to give you an amp of Procaine, which is pain-relieving and anti-inflammatory. You already have a slight fever.”

Lemay didn’t wait for an answer, instead he took a pair of scissors out of his bag and cut Aramis’ pants open. After a short, sharp sting the burning fluid ran right into his flesh- surprisingly he felt it running down his thigh.

Suddenly Aramis was hit by something. “Constance! _Mon Dieu_ , Treville, what about her? Is she all right?” 

“Constance should be fine, because she is a remarkable young woman,” Treville soothed him, “She did a great job. Very risky, but she was actually our ace in the sleeve. To be honest, I didn't think that everything would work out so perfectly.”

“She risked too much- you all risked too much,” Aramis whispered. “What if it had gone wrong?” Remorse cropped up and he couldn’t help thinking if their plan had failed, four others might have lost their lives to save his’.

“What happens to Constance now?” asked d'Artagnan. “How is she going to get out of there alive now? Soon suspicion will cast on her.” The facial expression and the tone of his voice reflected great concern. His words clasped Aramis’ heart like a vice. 

“Constance will manage it.” Treville looked from d'Artagnan to Aramis and back. The Captain’s voice had a soothing nuance, like one uses to calm an agitated horse. “The plan had its flaws, I have to admit. But nevertheless it worked. Constance has done an excellent job so far and will go home tonight, as she always does. I've already talked to Louis, he wasn't too thrilled we abducted her from the job, but in the end he agreed. Her mother is supposedly going to fall seriously ill at the end of the week and Constance will have to return to Alsace immediately. It is important that we keep her cover identity for a while and do not pull her from her post too quickly. The Gestapo might get suspicious and that’s not really what we want right now.”

Before someone said anything, Lemay waived his hand with an impatient expression. “Gentlemen, you can discuss everything later on, right now I would say- step back. Give the man some room to breathe and give me some room to do my job!”

Porthos and Athos looked at each other indecisively, doubting whether it was advisable to do what the doctor asked for, or stay beside Aramis who hardly was able to keep himself upright. Finally they obeyed reluctantly and gave way to Lemay so that he could examine Aramis.

Lemay now turned again to Aramis and scrutinized him from head to toe. According to the sympathetic expression in the doctor's eyes, he had probably already been able to get a more detailed idea of his condition. “I need to examine you more closely now, but the only way to do so…” He paused, bit his lip in what appeared to be worried contemplation. “I have to take off your pullover and remove all of your bandages.”

It took a second before the request seeped into Aramis’ mind, but when he realized the extent of it, he briefly pressed his eyes and jaws together. _Merde, I completely forgot the pullover._ Aramis breathed in as deeply as his bruised ribs would allow and nodded. “I guess I can’t avoid it, can I?”

Apparently full of sympathy for him, Lemay shook his head. 

Athos, now seated in a chair on the left side of Aramis, gently put his hand on Aramis' forearm. “We are here with you, Aramis.”

Lemay took again the scissors and sat down next to Aramis. He helped him to turn slowly away from the table and towards him so that he would be able to treat him more easily. Besides, the infusion, which was hanging on an iron stand above Aramis, would not get in his way. Lemay's hands were pleasantly warm as he carefully started to cut the torn bandages from his hands. Aramis only noticed how cold he himself felt, and he couldn't control the involuntary trembling hands. “I'm sorry.”

“Don't worry. You're in shock, it's perfectly normal. The painkiller will work in a few minutes. But I need to know the extent of your injuries, then we'll see if I might give you something stronger. Try to hold on just a little bit longer.” Lemay smiled confidently at Aramis.

Cut by cut- the Doctor focused on his work until finally both hands were freed from the dressings. Lemay pushed the sleeves of the pullover up and turned Aramis’ balmy hands back and forth to estimate the severity of his injuries. With puckered eyebrows, Lemay pointed to the deeper wound near the right wrist. “This injury could have ended badly. Someone sewed it- did you get medical care?”

“Did I...?” Aramis was completely aghast. “Did I get any medical treatment? You mean before or after the torture?” When he saw Lemay's astonished face, Aramis immediately regretted his cynical words. “Sorry, this was unfair, it’s of course not your fault.”

“Don’t mind. You've suffered a severe trauma. I'm sorry if I was insensitive, this shouldn't have happened,” Lemay replied in a friendly voice. 

Aramis nodded and sighed. “Yes, there was a doctor present and he...” He broke off lacking the right words to describe what Rausch had done. “...he…just…did his job,” he finally finished the sentence.

Porthos rumbled in the background, and when Aramis looked at him, he could tell by his expression how much his friend was dismayed. Aramis realized that his brothers couldn’t have known what happened to him at Gestapo headquarters. Only now were they beginning to see the full extent of his imprisonment. He understood how helpless and powerless they must have felt. Aramis cracked a small encouraging smile to show them how glad he was that they were all with him. He nodded to everybody, hoping that they would understand that he alone was responsible for his fate and didn’t blame them for him being caught by the Gestapo. In his heart there was only a deep gratitude that they had not abandoned nor given up on him, although- he now thought shamefully- there were times when he had almost lost hope.

“I understand. Well, let's get on, shall we?” Lemay replied with audible regret in his voice while he slowly cut open the sleeves of the pullover. He worked his way along the seams and detached everything but the back of the pullover from Aramis' body. 

Even though the analgesic infusion seemed to work for the most part, every movement near his back was hardly bearable for Aramis. He gritted his teeth but allowed no sound to cross his lips.

The hissing sound came from d'Artagnan who sucked in air, when Aramissat before them bare-chested and the result of Kleindienst's torture became visible to all. One could see how hard it was for the young man not to avert his gaze immediately. Porthos, who had moved closer to him again, kindly laid one hand on his shoulder while still fixing Aramis with a grim gaze. 

Aramis now risked a glance and was startled by the bruises covering his body now showing all shades of colors between purple and green. Lemay leaned further towards him and looked at every single spot.

“I'll examine the ribs, do you think anything is broken?”

Aramis shook his head. “No, I think some of them will be bruised, cracked at the worst.”

Lemay nodded slightly and began carefully to examine the rib cage. Aramis gasped heavily while the doctor’s fingers ran over bruised ribs to check vigorously if they could withstand the pressure. 

Athos, who had previously endured his friend's treatment with a stoic expression, carefully placed his hand on Aramis' shoulder. “It’s almost done, _mon ami,”_ he tried to comfort Aramis and at the same time give him strength to keep still. Shortly afterwards, Lemay pulled back his persistently groping fingers and straightened up. 

“There is no broken rib, but on the left side there are two badly bruised ribs and on your right side there may be one that is cracked based on your pain response. The haematomas are severe, it will take quite a time until everything has vanished. You are very pale, and you have dark circles under your eyes. It appears as if you've lost a lot of blood, is this true?” Lemay asked quietly. 

The image of a jug filled with his own blood crossed Aramis' mind and he had to close his eyes for a brief moment. He suppressed the raising nausea and ran his tongue over his upper lip before answering. “I lost enough...”

“Well,” Lemay hummed in understanding, “certainly enough to affect you, but you still have your senses, so that's a good thing. I'll put leeches on the most prominent places later on, because the saliva of the little creatures can dissolve haematomas and have anti-inflammatory and analgesic properties at the same time.”

“Leeches?” D'Artagnan drew a disgusted face.

“Yes, a very good alternative treatment, known for centuries. Leeches are close relatives of earthworms that feed on animal or human blood. For leech therapy, the animals are placed on the patient's skin, where the leech cuts with its sharp teeth a small wound into the skin, then it sucks out blood. In the process, the ingredients of his saliva enter the human blood. Medical research has also proven that...”, Lemay abruptly ended his little lecture when he noticed that all those present stared at him with a mixture of disbelief and incomprehension.

“Ah, I see. So the clinical side isn’t so important to you, is it?” he smiled embarrassed and stood up quickly to examine Aramis' head wound. “Would you please bring the lamp over here, so that I can get an idea of the head wound? Thank you very much.” 

Treville grabbed the lamp that was standing by the treatment couch and pulled it as far as the power cord would allow. In order not to get in the doctor’s way, the Captain went back to the treatment couch and sank heavily down on it.

Lemay bent over, this time with a swab in his hand, and carefully began to clean the edge of the wound, removing dried blood and dirt. “Hm, there are still small glass splinters in the laceration, I will have to get them out and stitch it later. Aramis, do you have a wound somewhere that I need to look at before I take care of your back?”

When Lemay mentioned his back, Aramis panicked and suddenly found it difficult to breath calmly. His whole back seemed to be on fire, he could feel a throbbing and stinging pain at the same time. With every movement he felt as if each fibre of the woolen pullover was cutting into his skin like little knives. The thought alone that someone would touch his back was equally unbearable as the constant waves of pain pulsating through his body. As long as he didn't move, he could somehow bear them, but he couldn't imagine what would happen if someone tampered with the wounds.

His tense posture revealed his fear, because Athos gently brushed with the back of his hand a strand of hair from his face and paused with his palm on his forehead for a moment. “As in battle, _mon ami_ , step by step. When one is done, then...”

“... then the moment will never return,” Aramis whispered hoarsely, completing the sentence. He turned his head towards Athos and their eyes locked in the same intensity as in the alley hours before. And again, neither of them had to say a word to express what was moving their hearts. Athos smiled confidently and Aramis braced himself for what was to come. He turned back to Lemay, “No, I don't think so. There are no other wounds that I’m aware of.”

“Good, I’ll begin now to remove the pullover from your back. I promise I’ll do this as quickly and efficiently as possible. I'll use my scalpel for this, but you have to hold as still as possible.” Lemay was obviously trying to keep a matter-of-fact tone, yet the deep pity he felt could clearly be heard in his voice.

Aramis tightened and nodded, he would endure this too. He bent forward as best he could and grasped the tabletop with both his hands. Instantly, waves of pain twitched through his arms, caused by the numerous stab wounds on his hands, but he figured it might distract him from what was inevitably to follow.

After pouring splashes of warm water on the pullover, Lemay systematically began to loosen the fabric from his back. Aramis groaned loudly as the first piece of fabric stuck on his skin was carefully peeled off tearing scabby wounds open. He gritted his teeth and tried to concentrate on Athos’ advice.

_It’s over._

This ordeal was nothing compared to the torture he had been exposed to and had survived, and yet he felt the pressure of his clenched jawbone had reached the top of his skull blending there with the gnawing headaches. When Lemay had to use the scalpel to cut more material from the encrusted skin, Aramis couldn't suppress a short scream, too suddenly and violently the pain had driven into his spinal cord. Panting, he tried to ease his breath and a nauseous feeling arose in him again. The corner of his eyes filled up with tears, but he blinked them back

One hand was laid lightly on the back of his left hand, and at the same moment he felt fingers very gently running through the hair. He knew immediately that it had to be Porthos trying to help him and give him strength by his mere presence. Warmth spread from underneath Porthos' fingers relieving his head from the aches. The mild touch alone anchored his mind and gave him strength.

The next time Lemay had to apply the scalpel, Aramis succeeded in fighting the moaning back, only a sharp hiss crossed his lips. The pressure on his hand increased briefly. Feeling he was blessed with such good friends, he let gratitude melt his heart and allow him to bear the rest of this ordeal.

Lemay had kept his word- as fast as it had begun, it was over. Exhausted, Aramis lay heavier on the table. He was sweating and due to the echoing pain, he had difficulty gaining control over his breathing. Porthos brushed his sweat drenched hair out of his face. Then he stepped back to give Tréville and d'Artagnan, also approaching Aramis, a view at what had caused him so much pain. 

“Good Lord, who would do such a thing? What causes such wounds?" The horror in d'Artagnan's voice was almost physically palpable and didn’t escape Aramis’ attention, wondering again what his body was about to reveal for his brothers.

“A long pliable stick set in leather,” Aramis replied muffled. His voice croaked like a saw blade being pulled over a stone. The image of Thernes, how he had stood before him, with bloody hands and an even bloodier stick, crossed unwanted through Aramis' mind, and involuntarily another tremor ran throughout his body.

"An ox pizzle, that’s what it is called. The preferred instrument of the Gestapo," Athos added in a flat tone. Only those knowing him well enough could hear the subdued fury and bewilderment resonating in his voice. 

“Yes, that might be true.” In Lemay's voice also ill-concealed dismay and something else Aramis couldn't really relate to, could be heard. An ominous foreboding grew in Aramis. After a short break the doctor explained objectively, “There are many deeply torn parts, and I’m worried about them. Some are already encrusted and I will probably have to reopen them to release the built up pus which can further the infection I worry is already there. Then I'll have to restitch them closed.”

“Can they really be stitched back together?” d'Artagnan asked in disbelief. He had returned to the window, probably avoiding having to put up with the sight of his brother's bloody back. But his pale face and the trembling voice revealed how terrified he was by what had happened to Aramis.

“I'm not worried about the stiches,” Lemay replied softly as he carefully inspected the edges of the wounds with his fingertips, “I'm more worried about the infection, he still has a fever.”

“What do you mean?” Treville now joined in walking back to the treatment couch and slowly sat down on it again. The Captain seemed exhausted and frustrated, deep wrinkles on his forehead. _My back must look awful,_ Aramis thought, _if even Treville is this pale._

“Hmm...how can I explain best?” Lemay's mind seemed to search for simple words to explain medical knowledge to laymen. “Aramis' back has suffered multiple blunt force traumas from the violent blows. There must have been a lot of force and pressure behind the hits. As a result, the areas of the skin were torn open. Open wounds are always a door for infection and even though we have penicillin, he went a long time without them.”

“And what does that mean?” Porthos asked in an impatient tone, who in the meantime also sat down on the treatment couch beside Treville. With his fingers drumming on his thighs and his eyes narrowed to small slits he almost looked hostile at Lemay. You could literally see Porthos' innermost anger at the fact that there was nothing he could but suffer vicariously with his friend.

Lemay haltered a little and seemed uncomfortable continuing talking. “If I don’t move fast before sepsis invades, that would possibly kill Aramis.”

Aramis, biting his lip, knew as a paramedic in the French army, enough about medical matters to be aware of how life-threatening his condition could be. “And what are you going to do about it?”

“I will have reopen the wounds and irrigate them,” Lemay explained, “Release pus and blood to stem infection and sew many layers closed. Not just the skin- internal stitches will be needed, for the wounds are deep.”

“You're not serious, are you? You want to irrigate his wounds, in this condition?" D'Artagnan turned even paler and looked briefly so shocked that Aramis almost felt more sorry for him than for himself.

Nevertheless, fear arose in Aramis for what would come next. The thought that Lemay’s treatment would cause further pain was almost unbearable for him. He briefly closed his eyes to prepare for what was to come. As he slowly opened them again, he looked directly into Athos' face. The expression of confidence and strength he could read in his friend's eyes gave him the optimism so badly needed that he could bear this, too. He took a deep breath and finally nodded with agreement.

“Good.” Lemay seemed to be relieved as he continued speaking. “Then I will prepare everything for the short anaesthetic. I promise you, you will have no more pain in a few minutes.”

“Anesthesia? Ether? Absolutely not.” When Aramis realized what the doctor was about to do, his fear rekindled and he flinched. He knew how unsafe the impact of ether could be. It often resembled a hazardous gamble counting on who would or would not survive anesthesia. The fact of his huge blood loss would not really increase his chances. 

Porthos and Treville reacted simultaneously to Aramis' shocked tone of voice and stood up from the treatment couch. While Porthos threateningly got up in front of Dr. Lemay, Treville stepped next to Aramis. 

“Aramis, trust me.” Lemay didn’t back off but continued to speak calmly. “I put people under anesthesia every day and they all wake up again. I have developed a good mixture of ether and chloroform and have achieved the best results. To perform the operation without anesthesia would be madness. Aramis could never keep as still as he should. He would probably pass out anyway because of the pain and go into shock again. Believe me, that would be much worse. It takes me a maximum of 30 minutes to address all the wounds, that would be a very short sedation period and he will be awake again in no time.” Lemay's voice had adopted a slightly pleading tone.

No one spoke and everybody looked full of expectation at Aramis.

He suddenly felt unendingly tired and exhausted, the whole ordeal seemed never to come to an end. 

_How could anybody expect that I could calculate a risk? In my shape?_

Aramis looked again at Athos, whose decisions had always been unconditionally reliable. Hardly anyone weighed the pros and cons more before making any decision than his friend, and Athos seemed to trust Lemay in this matter, because he nodded briefly. The doctor obviously was well schooled, that he would probably do nothing unwanted or harmful for the patient.

Aramis sighed, he basically just wanted the whole procedure to be over. He was about to turn his head to give Lemay his approval when suddenly the door opened. For Aramis it seemed as if in the small treatment room the sun had risen and bathed everything in bright light. 

“Anne!”


	19. Chapter 19

_Opening foreign doors means entering new rooms_.

Anne didn't know why this proverb crossed her mind right now, when wanting to push down the silver, tarnished door handle, so she hesitated. She had experienced many changes in the course of her life, intricate processes which only differed in strength, duration and frequency or gliding transitions from one situation to the next one, often so small she could hardly notice. 

“What exactly am I doing here?” she murmured unsure.

She had been prepared to take the course of her life into her own hands, being strong and determined, and to leave everything behind. Oh yes, she knew the reasons which had brought her to this place at this moment were good enough, yet the meaning of the moment let her pause.

_If I open this door there is no going back_ …

Anne was afraid of what the future would hold for her, even if it will be a future at the side of the man she truly loved. It would certainly be a life filled with difficulties, but still Anne was sure she could face each obstacle. With Aramis, endless new doors and endless new rooms would be opened up she had thought she would never be able to enter. Now she stood here, ready to take the one step that would change everything. It would be only a tenacious step. Nevertheless it would be a step everyone around her would notice. 

Anne took a deep breath, straightened up and opened the door.

Aramis sat on a small stool next to a table looking in her direction. She saw his blood-crusted face, his battered upper body, his sore hands and the pain keeping him trapped. But she also noticed his smile, seemingly coming from the bottom of his heart. With an almost transfigured glance, he looked at her as if she was the Holy Grail, coming to deliver him from all his suffering and giving him eternal life.

_Nothing and no one will ever separate me from him again_. Anne knew at the moment she had made the right decision.

The people meaning most to him, stood next to Aramis surrounding him like a shield. Their faces reflected a great concern for the man they all loved equally, but also the willingness not to abandon him in his pain. Anne could tell by their posture and the sweaty rims under the armpits of the obligatory brown-green shirts it must have cost them lots of effort and agitation to free Aramis.

Anne sensed a deep gratitude rising. These people had risked everything for Aramis’ welfare and they would stay by his side, regardless of the consequences, just like she would do.

_And I was worried they wouldn’t understand us_ , Anne smiled inwardly.

“Anne.” Treville, who had been sitting on the green treatment couch when she entered, stood up and raised his eyebrows in astonishment. His glance glided to the small travel bag in her hand, Anne knew that nothing ever slips the Captain’s attention. “What are you doing here?” he asked suspiciously.

Anne carefully closed the door behind her realizing that everyone’s attention in this room was completely focusing on her. She looked each of them into the eyes and smiled. “I wanted to see how Aramis is doing,” she replied, and placed her bag on the floor beside her. “I'll stay with him and never leave him again. Never ever again,” she added quietly, walking closer towards Aramis. Amazed, Porthos and Lemay stepped aside and Anne could now see how severe his wounds really were. _How vulnerable he looks._

“What do you mean? Never ever again...” Athos asked skeptically, although he already seemed to have a suspicion. His otherwise stoic face, from which she could rarely read his emotions, twisted as if he had got a stomach ache.

Anne gave no answer, instead she knelt down in front of Aramis to be on the same level with him. Seeing him in this poor condition stabbed her heart. She couldn’t even guess what he must have gone through, but she saw how much he was suffering now. She caressed tenderly and gently with her hand over every single wound in his face. She touched even the chapped areas of his skin and lips, the blood encrusted abrasions, the swollen cheeks. He flinched now and then, but never turned his dark eyes from her, as if he couldn't believe she was really here. She rose, stroked a sticky curl out of Aramis' face and gave him a tender kiss on his sweaty forehead before turning back to Athos and the others.

“I am staying here with Aramis, the man I am in love with. _”_ With this one sentence, Anne changed the alignment of her stars. For a moment there was absolute silence and Anne saw all too clearly the different emotions, ranging from surprise to horror, written all over the men's faces.

Treville opened his mouth to say something, but Lemay preempted him. “Anne! Nice to see you again,” the doctor said in a casual tone. “Although the circumstances are a bit unusual, aren't they? How is your father? I missed him at our last board meeting.”

Although Lemay probably understood the meaning of what he had just seen, he was a doctor with a big heart and gentle soul, putting his patients’ welfare always first. Anne was sure that he would not allow any dispute here and now, because there were more urgent tasks needed to be done. So Lemay went back to Aramis and, without really expecting an answer from Anne, started to check carefully the infusion. “The bottle with the saline solution will be empty soon, I will give you another dose of Procaine before the surgery, since it also has a good sedative effect.”

“Surgery?” Anne asked, startled.

“What exactly did you mean by staying with Aramis?” Treville didn’t let go and the look on his face indicated the subject had given him a sudden headache.

Anne knew that Treville, as a close confidant of Louis, knew exactly which consequences her actions would bring. But in the same breath he had always known which kind of person Louis was and what she had to put up with in the last few years. If she explained the situation here, Treville would have understood her and even support her. But a look into Lemay's face told her that the doctor was getting impatient, so she denied the answer, she would talk to all of them later.

“Am I missing something here?” Porthos voice sounded upset with a hint of anger. He hadn't moved an inch. Anne noticed she was unsure of herself again. For all the world, Porthos was a devoted man when it came to protecting those he loved, but for her he had also too much of a rudeness and directness.

“Porthos, let me explain, we have...” Aramis seemed to have shaken off the emotional trance into which Anne's appearance had plunged him. Probably he had recognized how much this must have affected the others, except Athos, not knowing anything about her affair until now.

Aramis had explained again and again that it was a burden for him that he couldn’t tell Porthos anything about their relationship. Nevertheless, Anne had insisted that no one should know- for Louis and his possible reaction might be overwhelming. That had changed, but nevertheless it was clear that a quick conversation was not enough to make his friends understand.

“That's enough, gentlemen... and lady.” Lemay's voice sounded surprisingly resolute and he seemed to have grown up a few inches. “I will now prepare my patient for surgery, but to do so I have to concentrate. I won’t allow any distractions, so I have to ask, please, everyone leave now.”

Lemay looked at each one of them and his posture indicated that he didn’t intend to differ from his opinion. This was his field of work, for he was responsible for the lives of many and had to make decisions some people might not agree with. It was clear he would not make an exception here.

D'Artagnan, who hadn't said a word but only watched the events with an astonished expression, was the first to react. He looked a bit worn out and Anne suspected he had gone through many emotions today. The young man got up from his window seat, went to Porthos and put his hand on his shoulder. Anne couldn't hear what he was saying to him. The greatest tension escaped from Porthos' posture and he gave Aramis a long look, which she didn't understand. Finally, the tall man, tightening his lips and shaking his head, let d'Artagnan and Treville, who had joined them, accompany him to the door.

Athos, who also had got up, gently squeezed Aramis' shoulder as he passed by, nodded at her with an equally indefinable look and went to the door. Before he left the room, he turned to Anne once more. “Are you coming?”

Anne shook her head. “No, I still have to talk to Aramis.” 

Athos squinted his eyes and put his head to one side, but said nothing and left the treatment room as well.

“Anne, you know I need quietness to work and…” Lemay insisted.

“Nicolas, please, just for a moment, I promise,” Anne begged.

Lemay turned to Aramis, who immediately nodded, then sighed in frustration. “All right, a few minutes, but when I'm done, you leave, understood? I really can't have any distractions.”

“Yes, of course, thank you.” Anne couldn't hide how relieved she felt. She had come to talk to Aramis, she just had to tell him everything, she didn't want to put it off for a second. Suddenly she remembered something.

“What exactly did you mean by surgery?” She looked eyes wide open at Lemay.

“My back,” Aramis replied quietly instead of the doctor and added hastily, before Anne could take a step around him. “But I am fine, it's not as bad as it looks.”

Anne knew that Aramis always tended to play down his injuries in her presence and distrusted his hurriedly made statement. He seemed to know what she was about to do because he raised his hand and stopped her from looking at his back. Now she wanted even more to see it, but regretted it immediately after she got a first look.

_If I had only listened to him._

She felt the shock flashing like an electric impulse from her head into every part of her body. Her heart almost stopped. She couldn't prevent tears rising into her eyes. Anne slapped her hands over her mouth and staggered back. It was a mystery how Aramis could endure such injuries, no one could stand such pain and yet he sat here and soothingly reached his hand out to her.

“Anne, please, just leave it and believe me, it's not that bad...” Aramis tried to calm Anne down.

Anne almost laughed hysterically, she didn't believe a word he was saying. But when she saw that her reaction made him suffer even more, she gave in for his sake to believe his lie. She took his hand and squeezed it gently to show him that she somehow had pulled herself together.

Meanwhile, Lemay had filled a syringe with another ampule of the painkiller and injected it into the last remnants of the infusion. Anne watched the doctor distraught, still undecided where to stand not to be in his way. When Lemay had finished, he went to his bag and rummaged through it. He took out a small bottle of morphine, as well as the characteristic leather roll in which he had probably brought sterile surgical instruments, and put everything on the table. Carefully he rolled the leather bundle apart and looked at his instruments. When he was satisfied with what he saw, he nodded silently and rummaged in his bag again.

An increasing impatience captured Anne. _My goodness, what is taking him so long_.

As if Lemay read her thoughts, he quickly walked over to a small white metal medicine cabinet with glass doors. He was so lost in thoughts that he almost collided with Anne, who could only prevent Lemay from knocking her down by taking a large step aside.

“Anne,” he said in surprise. “Please forgive me, I’ve forgotten all about you. I didn't bring any ether for the sedation and I have to see if there is any.”

Anne saw Aramis pulling his eyebrows together at the mention of the ether, and for a moment his face looked a hint more painful than it already was. She quickly stepped up to him and, like Athos had done before, she laid her hand on his shoulder, ignoring to look at his back. 

Lemay opened the medicine cabinet and started to push ampules and vials back and forth, but obviously without any result. He twitched his mouth gruffly as he turned back to Anne and Aramis. “There is no ether here, I have to go to the main building and get some. When I come back, I'll start immediately, is that clear?”

This time Anne was sure that the doctor would not tolerate any further delay. “Yes, of course.”

“All right, then I'll go now. It would be beneficial if you could help Aramis lie down on the treatment couch.” With all the authority of an attending physician, he looked at Anne and she nodded dutifully right away.

Anne was happy that Lemay finally walked out of the door leaving her alone with Aramis. She took a chair, pushed it towards Aramis and sat down.

Their eyes finally locked. Aramis’ were shining with warmth and tenderness despite all pain. A feeling of love flooded through her heart as she had never experienced before. Immediately, her soul merged with the feeling of his love, all her problems and fear vanished into thin air. Every fiber of her mind and heart were filled with the happiness of that special moment. Now they became a greater One, a We was arising from their souls exceeding far beyond any limitation. She wanted to tell him so many things, but every word seemed to fall short and did not come even close to express what she carried under her heart and in her soul.

“ _Mi amada_ , you should not have come,” Aramis whispered with a slight trembling voice, obviously taken by the same emotions she held.

“I had to come, Aramis. I was so afraid for you, I wouldn't survive without you...” her voice failed her. Life without him would be completely unthinkable. Now that she had been brave enough to take this step forward, she was eager to tell the whole world her happiness. And anyone willing to oppose her and her beloved, she would fiercely fight off.

Aramis smiled, touching her cheek tenderly.

“It is over. I am here, with you.” Lovingly, he comforted her in a low voice full of strength and confidence. “I would rather spend one lifetime with you, than face all the ages of this world alone.”

Anne nestled her face briefly against his bloody palm. It should have been her to support and comfort Aramis, instead he sat here and didn’t care that he was all battered up, weak and worn out. Anne gently grabbed Aramis' wounded hand, and while standing up from the chair, she laid it on her stomach. She never let Aramis’ face slip her eyes, not even for a second, smiling lovingly at him.

This was the moment she had wished for all those years before, thinking and dreaming about it over hundreds of times. She had never assumed to look into the eyes of a beloved man and at the same time been expecting his child. Long time ago she had to accept the deep pain of being reminded of her inability to bear children. The meaning of her existence was at the brink and she had to bury month by month the promise of a fulfilled future.

_And now I am standing here carrying his child beneath my hear_ t. Anne could hardly believe this thought after a thousand moments of shattered hopes and shed tears. In this moment of great happiness she also understood, more than in any other moments before, that the sorrow she had felt was also part of her bliss, absorbed but not disappeared. In love, confidence and suffering were intimately tied together, forming a unity between life and death, but always in favor of life.

Aramis looked at her and from his hastened breath, and the glow in his eyes Anne could tell he understood the message.

“Anne- is this true?” was all he could stammer, and leaning his hands heavily on the table he rose. A broadening smile spread across his face. For one moment, he seemed to have forgotten his aches, because he embraced Anne with a surprisingly firm grip, burying his face in her neck. 

Anne didn’t dare to touch him any further, but she pressed her head against his and felt tears running down her cheeks. She didn't know how long they stood here like that, time and space merged into a unity of indescribable, unwavering joy of life, where hope out-shined everything. At some point Aramis took her face between his hands and kissed her gently. Anne felt the bloody scab of his torn lip and tasted the metal of his dried blood. This kiss felt like a promise that he would never leave her alone and was ready to take the new, unknown path with her, no matter the cost.

But the moment of their joined hearts was all too quickly overtaken by reality. Aramis groaned in pain and sank exhausted back on the stool. In the wake of their feelings he had gone beyond his physical limits and Anne suspected that he would not be able to hold on one second longer. She supported him as best as she could with her arms and whole body, but she knew that Aramis had no energy left.

“Come on, Aramis, I'll help you. We have to get you down,” Anne requested.

Aramis leaned heavily against her, and slowly walking the few steps to the treatment couch, Anne pushed the stand with the infusion. Anne was hurt to her soul by the sight how even the smallest step tormented Aramis. With clenched teeth he battled through the pain. Aramis sat down on the treatment couch and just as she carefully helped him to lie, she noticed that the infusion tube was right in their way. At that moment, thank goodness, the door was opened and Lemay came back. 

The doctor seemed to be relieved that Anne had already brought Aramis to the treatment couch. Lemay thanked her and placed the anesthetic utensil he had brought with him, an obligatory drip mask with perfectly fitting woolen cloth, on the small table next to the couch. Aramis saw the instruments and turned pale. Anne didn’t know why, but she noticed the marksman was afraid of sedation. She sat down next to Aramis while Lemay pulled the infusion needle out of his leg and squeezed the small wound, brushing a strand of hair from his sweaty forehead. 

“All's well, _mon cher_ , I'll stay with you,” she assured him and a heartbeat later he nodded.

_How could I forget_. Anne reached into the pocket of her jacket. She pulled out a silver rosary. The old family heirloom was elaborately engraved and decorated with blue gemstones. The precious little work of art had laid in her jewelry box for years, but since she was with Aramis and knew about his sincere faith for God, she could not get rid of the thought that he should have it.

“When you wear it, a part of me is right above your heart,” Anne whispered as she carefully placed the rosary in Aramis' hand.

Aramis smiled gratefully and his eyes became moist as he held the precious object tightly in his hand. He put it on his lips and kissed it piously. When he took a deep breath, Anne knew that he had regained the strength to face his fears and surrender to what was necessary.

Anne helped Aramis lie face down on the treatment couch, finding it difficult to ignore his trembling and silent moans. In the meantime, Lemay had prepared everything and waited patiently until the marksman had regained his composure.

“Shall we?” the doctor secured Aramis agreement.

Aramis flinched at his words one last time before nodding. Anne crouched next to the couch, very close by Aramis’ head without turning her eyes from him. Lemay put the mask sideways on Aramis and applied the etheric mixture drop by drop to the wool cloths until the marksman's eyes started to blink. Anne saw how he tried to fight against his heavy eyelids and his hand closed a little tighter around the rosary, but finally the power of the substances won and Aramis gave in. His eyes closed and his features relaxed, but the Rosary did not fall from his hand.

“He is unconscious now, Anne, he is in no pain, I assure you. Please go now, I'll let you know when he's awake again,” Lemay told Anne confidently and smiled reassuringly. 

Anne knew she could entrust Aramis' life to the doctor and took a deep breath. She rose, breathed a last kiss on Aramis' cheek and turned to leave.

“Thank you, Nicolas, for everything,” Anne said ambiguously.

The doctor nodded at her, but it was obvious that his thoughts were already operating and basically just waiting for her to finally leave. Anne smiled back and opened the door that now had become a symbol for her new life. She stepped into the almost dark corridor. Light shining from behind into the dark vestibule fell on a figure leaning against an opposite door frame.

_Athos._

She was briefly startled by his presence but his whole posture and the calm expression on his face told her that he was not here to confront her. They both remained silent as Anne closed the door behind her and her eyes adjusted to the dark twilight in the hallway. 

Eventually, Athos pushed himself away from the door frame and offered her his elbow. “Come, the others are already in Treville's office waiting for you. I suppose there are some explanations necessary,” Athos' requested with a mild and composed voice, yet Anne felt as if there was an underlying accusation in his tone of voice.

“It won't be avoidable, will it?” Anne tried to smile, but the nervousness had already settled over her confidence thwarted her attempt. It was one thing to be in a room with Aramis confessing her love for him, but it was quite another thing to venture into the lions' den on her own and explain to Aramis' closest friends what they had seen a few minutes earlier.

Athos hummed merely in response, barely shaking his head and once again indicated with his elbow that he was waiting for her.

Anne sighed and linked her arm with his. Athos' arm was as strong and powerful as his will, and Anne knew he would not abandon her, and would stand by her against the rest of the musketeers if necessary. Even if he didn't agree with everything concerning Aramis and her, she knew she could count on him. Together they walked up the stairs to Treville's office on the top floor. Anne smiled furtively at the thought that she would never have to take the back stairs in the darkness again. For the first time she was taking the official way to the Musketeers’ quarter in the bright light of day and in front of everyone.

  



	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> RosstersCromedCDF proudly presents...  
> Every good show has guest directors now and then who stage single episodes and add exciting new aspects. So why not in a story?  
> The next two chapters were written by my wonderful beta barbara69 as a guest author.  
> From her I learned how to work with dialogues in a story, and since she was so involved in the whole project, we thought it would be a nice idea.  
> And I can't emphasize it often enough: without her, Heart and Soul of France wouldn't exist. She has accompanied me through all the writing depths and storms and always believed that this story was worth publishing. My dear, thank you so much!

Cognac was a French town north of Bordeaux, nestled in lovely vineyards and functioning as a commercial and craft centre for the surrounding villages. Since the Middle Ages, white wine was used to produce the special brandy that had made the region internationally famous beyond the borders of France. Wine has been grown in the area since Roman times, and in the late Middle Ages it was shipped on barges and exported via various ports mainly to the British Isles and Scandinavia. It was not until the early 17th century that wine was, allegedly because of its improved shelf life, distilled into _eau de vie_ , the very drink Athos now held in his hand, as he stood tired to the bone and exhausted.

It was only morning, but it felt to him as if he had been awake for ages and the burden of recent events weighed more heavily on his heart than any mission before. 

Wordlessly, Tréville had handed both him and Anne a glass filled with more than the usual fingerbreadth of the golden liquid, as they had entered the office. A glance at the other men's faces in the room had been enough for Athos to know that they'd already been expected. At Tréville's inquiring gaze, Athos had taken Anne’s glass from the captain's hand, too. “Thank you, I will take it. I'd be sorry to see it go to waste.” He had a suspicion of Anne’s restraint, but did not remotely feel the urge to voice it, especially with what he had learned the night before about Louis' behavior. For that, he definitely didn't have enough alcohol in his bloodstream yet.

“I know it's still quite early, but I'd have thought that while you were here, you would join us in drinking a toast to Aramis' release,” Tréville said, slightly irritated while eyeing Anne suspiciously. “God knows I could do with a good drink,” he added. “To Aramis!”

“To Aramis!” Athos joined his brothers in bringing out a toast to their marksman and downed his glass in one gulp. He enjoyed the malty, soft taste of the drink rolling over his tongue and he gratefully felt how the mild spiciness soothed his troubled soul. Pleasant warmth spread within him when he turned his gaze back to Anne. 

Anne must have understood him even without words, for she sighed deeply, jutting her chin out as if to prepare herself for what was to come. “Very well, I guess I don't have a choice but to explain it all to you, and I better let the cat out of the bag straight away.” She glanced briefly at Porthos, who grimly grasped his glass with both hands, and d'Artagnan, who, like Porthos, was leaning against the wall to her right. D'Artagnan still seemed upset by everything that had happened. “As you already saw, and as I said before, I will stay with Aramis. I've left my husband and will not return to him. I'm pregnant and expecting Aramis' child.”

A heavy silence settled over the room, disturbed only by the muffled laughter of the pavilion's children playing in the warm March sun in the hospital's park below. 

Stunned, Tréville stared at Anne and one could see that he was obviously searching for words. “You're pregnant?” he finally uttered hoarsely. He cleared his throat and took another gulp from his glass. 

“Yes,” Anne replied, and finally put down her small travelling bag, which she had been holding all the time. “I will start a new life with Aramis. I should've left Louis years ago, the pregnancy was just the last push I needed to finally go in the right direction. That, and the realization of what kind of person Louis really is,” she added quietly.

There was a short pause with all eyes set on Anne. Athos suspected she was giving the men time to stomach what she had just said before she would go on. Her bruise was well hidden again, but deep lines of worry had covered her face, indicating that the confession of her affair with Aramis and the resulting pregnancy was not the only thing that weighed heavily on her mind. An icy lump formed in Athos’ stomach, slowly starting to stretch its cold fingers into all directions now. 

Anne took a deep breath and closed her eyes briefly, as if she needed to gather strength for what she would have to say next. She kneaded her fingers and her voice trembled with suppressed anger as she continued speaking. “Louis is responsible for the Gestapo's success in capturing Aramis. He has blurted out secrets and is not even willing to admit his guilt!” The last words were literally spat out as if she'd been disgusted having to keep them in her mouth any longer. 

Tréville was about to take his glass to his mouth, suddenly froze in mid-motion. “What?”

Porthos slammed his glass down on Treville’s desk and stepped towards Anne. “Louis did what?”

Of all the men in the room, Porthos was probably the one who had the least sympathy for Louis, which was certainly mutual. The two men were too different to have ever found a level on which they could converse in a somewhat civilized way. Also, Porthos was without fail the one among them who had an overwhelming protective instinct when it came to his friends; particularly in regard to Aramis. The rumble that seemed to come from deep within Porthos was almost more frightening than the sparkle of rage in his eyes. “What did you say? Louis betrayed Aramis to those bastards?”

Anne involuntarily backed away from Porthos, who was threateningly looming over her now. She bumped into Athos, who put a reassuring hand on her arm. 

“Porthos,” Athos said in a low voice.

Porthos' icy gaze turned to Athos, and Athos could see that his brother resembled a ticking bomb, ready to explode any moment.

“I'm going to kill that bastard,” Porthos hissed, and took half a step back, apparently trying to relax his tense muscles. His fists, however, continued to clench incessantly. 

Tréville cleared his throat again. “What do you mean, Anne? To what extent is Louis involved in Aramis' capture? And what exactly is he supposed to have revealed?” 

Athos could tell from the captain's face that he had doubts about Anne's statement. None of them knew Louis better than Tréville. Athos was even sure that the two had known each other since Louis's youth, and that Tréville had always been something like a mentor for Louis. He hoped Anne had good reasons for her accusations. 

“Why don't you sit down,” Athos finally said to Anne, nodding towards the two chairs in front of the desk. He went to the window, briefly exchanging glances with Tréville, and leaned against the windowsill.

Anne shook her head slightly and stayed where she was. Turning to Tréville, she began to report, quietly and calmly, but with so much hatred in her voice it sounded almost like hissing. “I'll spare you the unpleasant scene that preceded Louis' confession, but he confessed to me that during one of his brothel visits with his drinking buddy Rochefort, he spilled things he shouldn't have.”

“Rochefort?” Athos asked harshly before any of the others could react. “Is Louis still hanging around with that good-for-nothing?” He glanced at Tréville, who briefly returned the look. “I've never understood what Louis sees in that man. He's a dangerous snake.”

“Yes, and one that's best crushed under your tip of the boot,” Porthos growled. “Now it makes sense how Aramis could've fallen into Nazi hands if that rotten rat had a hand in it.”

D'Artagnan, who had followed the conversation silently until then, took a step closer to Treville's desk, eyes still big as saucers. “The Rochefort who sucks up to Louis? Who loiters around in the worst places of Paris with even worse people? Do you mean _this_ Rochefort?”

Porthos and Athos both nodded at the same time, and their grim faces showed what they thought of this 'coincidence'.

“Yes,” replied Anne. “Louis still likes to keep company with this person, and apparently he thought it appropriate to reveal secrets of the Résistance right down to the last detail.” Anne clutched the back of the chair in front of her, her fingers digging deep into the wood. She looked at Treville. “He told Rochefort about the convoy. He didn't tell him the exact location, at least he was that clever, or maybe not drunk enough, but I am sure he boasted about the fact that he had used the services of the best marksman the Résistance has to offer at the moment. He claims he didn't mention Aramis by name, but I don't believe him. It doesn't matter anyway,” she added. “Rochefort knew exactly who Louis meant.”

It turned even quieter in the room than before. Tréville, who scarcely ever lost his composure, stared at Anne, open-mouthed and stunned. “Tell me that's not true. Tell me he didn't do that, this could possibly end the Resistance,” he whispered hoarsely. 

Anne nodded slowly, pressing her lips firmly together. Circling the chair, she finally sat down. 

Athos looked at her and could see in her eyes the same deep disappointment and pain he'd heard in Tréville's words about what Louis had risked for whoring and boozing. 

Athos gave Porthos and d'Artagnan a warning look. Before Porthos would explode and start shouting wild insults, he had to clear something. “What exactly are we talking about here, Treville?” He stepped up to the side of the desk, that way he could look Treville in the eye as well as keep an eye on Porthos and the Gascon. “What convoy are we talking about and what does Aramis have to do with it?” 

Tréville collapsed in his armchair, rubbing his face several times with both hands before he seemed to regained his composure. Looking seriously at each of his men, he said, “Two years ago, while Paris fell into the hands of the Germans, Louis brought all the valuable and priceless art treasures from the Louvre to safety. I myself don't know exactly where he took it. He'd asked me for advice back then, looking for men who could carry out the transport and secure it. I had recommended Aramis to him as an absolutely reliable man and the best marksman I know. Only few people know about it.” Tréville looked at Anne, his eyes reflecting rage and bewilderment about the fact that Louis was responsible for all the terrible things that had happened to Aramis. 

“And the Gestapo,” started d’Artagnan, his voice fragile in disbelief. “Deliberately caught Aramis because they probably wanted to screw the exact location of the hideout of the artwork out of him.” He shook his head. “But that means Rochefort is a spy for the Germans, isn't it? Or at least a collaborator.”

Athos and Porthos exchanged an intense gaze. Athos knew Rochefort would never again have a quiet moment in his life. Porthos would leave no stone unturned, fight any enemy and travel to the ends of the earth to take revenge on the snake Rochefort, who had not only betrayed France, but above everything else, put Aramis' life at risk and brought him ineffable torture.

“Since day one I have known Rochefort was playing a false game, but Louis didn't want to hear it. He never wants to hear.” Although Porthos had spoken almost softly, his words echoed through the small room like the trumpets of Jericho. “He doesn't give a dime about anyone else, that son of a bitch, that fat bastard…”

Porthos' cursing would have probably gone on for a while if Tréville hadn't suddenly shot up from his chair like a scalded cat. “ _Mon Dieu_ ,” he gasped out “Did Aramis say anything about what the Gestapo wanted to know from him?”

Porthos and d'Artagnan shook their heads and Anne looked from one to the other.

Athos stepped up to the captain. “What you really want to know is whether Aramis told the Gestapo where the art treasures are hidden, isn't it?” His tone was void of any emotion yet he found it difficult to remain calm. “You wonder if they're already on their way to wherever it is Louis took the stuff to.”

Tréville briefly held Athos' gaze, then he looked away and nodded. “Yes. We must find out what the Gestapo knows.”

“Nothing.”

All eyes turned to d'Artagnan.

“Did he say so?” asked Tréville.

“No, he didn't say anything at all. He was unconscious or at least barely responsive on our way back to the garrison, and you heard for yourself what he said when we were here,” d'Artagnan replied.

“Do you seriously believe Aramis would endure all that torture, and _then_ reveal where those art treasures are?” Porthos hissed. “Just look at him! The fool would rather die than let even a shred of French national heritage fall into the hands of the Germans.”

Tiredly, Tréville rubbed his eyes. “You're right, Porthos. I know Aramis would never betray anything, but we also know what the Gestapo is capable of. I'm not even sure if I could vouch for myself if I'd be in the same position.” He looked at Porthos guiltily. “We'll have to ask him as soon as he regains consciousness.”

Although the Inseparables knew their Captain was a good commander, he had to ask this question. But it seemed to them like a betrayal of Aramis. Nevertheless, they looked at each other furiously and found it difficult to accept Tréville's order without a word.

“I'll ask him,” Athos replied coldly, already knowing how much it would hurt Aramis that they apparently didn't put it past him to have betrayed one of the most important secrets of the Republic. “Once he has recovered from the anaesthetic,” he added.

Tréville nodded grimly and sank back into his chair. “Now to Louis,” he started again, but was interrupted by Porthos. 

“Right, speaking of Louis.” Porthos' voice trembled with barely suppressed rage. “How is it possible that Aramis is involved in such a dangerous operation and we didn't know anything about it?”

“Porthos, calm down!” Athos had also raised his voice. He was sure he knew exactly what was going on in his friend's mind and he feared that Porthos was seconds away from losing the last bit of his up to now so laboriously kept composure.

“But I don't want to calm down,” Porthos rumbled back, angrily glaring at Athos. “Or did you know it? Have you known and not told us either?”

“No, this is the first I'm hearing of it, too. But if Aramis didn't tell us, he must have had his reasons. You can ask him about it once Lemay has patched him up again and he's no longer lying in bed, battered, bloody and half conscious from pain,” Athos hissed back.

“ _Messieurs_ , please, calm down,” Tréville interjected, raising both his hands in a calming manner.

“And you, why didn't you tell us?” Porthos addressed the Captain. “Are we no longer trustworthy or just not worthy of being let in on all the plans of the Resistance? After all, we are the ones who are constantly risking their necks out there.”

“Porthos, please, this has got…” Anne's attempt at conciliation was abruptly blocked by Porthos’ posture.

Porthos approached her, his voice threateningly low. “You can keep quiet. How long has this been going on between you and Aramis? You always act so unapproachable and smug, and then you start an affair with Aramis? Aramis of all people?”

Anne startled. Seeking for help, her look finally settled on Athos.

Athos returned the look, trying to indicate to Anne that she shouldn't pay too much heed to Porthos' words. Athos knew that Porthos was offended, but his anger at Aramis and Anne would vanish just as quickly as it had risen. When he looked up again, he realized that he had looked back at Anne for a little bit too long and too intensely.

Porthos stared at him with wide eyes. “You knew about this, didn't you?” he hissed.

“Porthos...” Anne started again.

“I'm not talking to you,” Porthos snapped at her. “Well?”

Athos sighed, closing his eyes briefly. “Yes, I knew about it, but only because I caught them in the act back at the monastery after the air raid. What was I supposed to do? Do you think I was pleased to know about it? Do you think I liked keeping this secret?” Athos barked back.

“Porthos, please, it was me who urged Aramis not to tell anyone and he asked Athos to keep quiet about it for my sake,” Anne interposed quietly.

“Aramis doesn't keep secrets from us. At least, he never did before,” Porthos replied icily. 

D'Artagnan had come closer to Porthos, putting a hand on his friend's shoulder to calm him down. “It's not only Anne's fault, I mean, it always takes two,” he said quietly. “And besides, it was probably wise not to make a big deal out of it. Just imagine if Louis had found out.”

Athos looked at d'Artagnan and was once again astonished at how much empathy and wisdom of life actually lay dormant in the Gascon, something no one would expect to find in this rash, young man. D'Artagnan certainly thought of his own love affair with married Constance, Athos mused, a tiny smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. He was abruptly roused from his musings when Porthos rumbled again.

“Exactly! Do you even hear yourself talking, pup?” Porthos shook off d'Artagnan's hand and took a step back. “Perhaps Louis had long since found out that his wife was having an affair with Aramis and it was no coincidence that he told Rochefort about it, who conveniently passed the information on to the Nazis. Maybe Louis only wanted to get rid of Aramis. Maybe, in the end there aren't even some hidden art treasures somewhere, but only a King who's laughing up his sleeve.”

It turned dead silent again in the room. The glances thrown at Porthos reflected astonishment, horror and realisation. Athos was not sure which of these emotions his eyes reflected at that moment, but he was the first to regain his composure. “Can this be true?” he asked Anne.

Anne looked at him helplessly, shrugging her shoulders indecisively.

“Can it?” Athos repeated his question, this time to Tréville. 

Treville held Athos' gaze for a moment, then cleared his throat. “I can't believe it. The art treasures are gone from the Louvre, I've seen it with my own eyes. Louis may have his faults, but that would be a bit too much, even for him.” If Tréville didn't believe his own words, he certainly didn't let it show.

“Frankly, I don't really care.” Porthos' voice had become alarmingly soft, which was worse than the grumbling he usually made when he was angry. His harsh gaze was directed at Athos. “If Aramis thinks he doesn't need to let us in on his secrets, let him do so. Obviously we no longer belong to his select, illustrious circle of trustworthy people. If there is nothing we can do to protect him, it is his own fault. I don't care.” Porthos' face, however, belied his words and showed quite clearly for everyone to see that he _did_ care a lot. “He shall do as he pleases.” With these words Porthos turned and left the room, slamming the door shut behind him heftily. 

“Do not think much of it, it's just his way of showing how much he cares for Aramis' wellbeing and how much this all has affected him,” Athos said to Anne. 

“I know,” Anne replied softly. 

“I'll talk to Louis,” Treville promised. “He'll have to do some explaining about the whole matter. God have mercy on him if only half of what was just brought up here is true.”

Tréville's voice sounded calm and composed, but Athos knew him well enough to know that what Porthos had said in anger had given the captain something to mull over, as did Anne's report that a drunken Louis had probably not been able to keep all the secrets of the Resistance to himself. He was glad that for once neither he nor any of his brothers would feel the wrath of Tréville. Today, someone else would be the recipient of what would probably be an enormous dressing-down. _And rightly so_ , Athos guessed. Thinking about the possibility of Louis being indeed responsible for all that had happened to Aramis, and that he had perhaps even acted willingly, Athos again felt an icy chill spreading inside him.

“Do you know where he is at the moment?” Tréville turned to Anne. “Can I reach him at home?”

Anne shrugged her shoulders. “I think so. We had an unpleasant argument when I told him I was leaving him and I really don’t want to go into details. When I left, he was very upset. Well, I was at least as upset as he was after he'd confessed to me about Rochefort. I suppose he sits at home, licking his wounds and drowning his self-pity in alcohol.”

“Why did Louis release this information now?” Athos dug deeper after everything else he knew about Louis. “He knew that you were about to run to Aramis and most likely tell us everything he said and hence, get himself in trouble.”

Anne stared straight into Athos eyes. “Because Louis is a selfish and proud person and I hurt his pride? Because he wanted to hurt me- and now I have to deal with the knowledge that my husband betrayed the person I love most? Louis behaves as he pleases. Do you really think he considers the consequences? You, especially should know, Athos.” The bitterness in Anne’s voice was hard to ignore and Athos swallowed hard. After all he wouldn’t put this behavior past Louis.

Running his hand over his face, Treville ended the discussion. “Well, I'll try to reach out and talk to Louis. If you'd like, you can stay in Aramis' room for now.” Tréville's discomfort at the fact that Anne was now with Aramis, and would share a room with him, was clearly audible in his last words, but he made no further comment.

Athos, for his part, had heard enough. He went to Treville's desk, sighing exhaustedly, and unscrewed the cognac bottle. He refilled his glass, but knew there wouldn't be enough alcohol to wash down the frustration and anger of today's events.

  


  



	21. Chapter 21

Porthos didn't know what to do with his anger and would have liked to smash all the windows on his way down to the treatment room.

_How could Aramis have kept such secrets from me?_

Aramis had to know that he trusted him unconditionally and would support all his decisions. He had always done that. Of course, Porthos had never made a secret of the fact that he couldn't get comfortable with Louis or Anne. Louis simply wasn't a man worthy of closer involvement with, too arrogant, stupid and hubristic was his nature, at least from Porthos' point of view. For Porthos, Anne had only been Louis' appendage, spoiled, conceited and hardly taking any notice of her surroundings. Porthos thought that her wealthy family home and the snobbish upbringing she had had were downright conspicuous. He would never have thought that a woman like her would get involved with a man like Aramis, who had neither money nor power nor a university degree.

Aramis, on the other hand...well, Porthos knew his friend was a real seducer, adored by many women. But Porthos had never thought Aramis would ever strive for a committed relationship, especially one with a woman like Anne. Lost in thought, Porthos stared at his hand, resting on a doorknob, probably for quite some time now without pressing it down. Astonished, Porthos noticed that he was standing in front of the treatment room where Lemay had been treating Aramis. He had been so preoccupied with his thoughts and his rage at Aramis and Anne that he hadn't noticed how his feet had automatically led him to the place where his heart apparently wanted to be.

He sighed, carefully pushing the door handle down.

Lemay stood at the washstand, cleaning his hands while Aramis lay sleeping or unconscious on the treatment couch, carefully laid on his side so that the wounds on his back were not exposed to any pressure. Lemay turned his head towards the door.

Porthos stepped into the room. “I just wanted to see how he was doing,” he mumbled. His voice felt strangely raw.

“Ah, Porthos, I'm just finished. It's good you're here, I need to go to the hospital where I've got the leeches I want to put on.” Drying his hands, Lemay approached Porthos. “Can you stay with him for a moment? The anesthetic is still working, but I think he'll come around any moment. It would be good to have someone with him then.”

Porthos nodded. Seeing Aramis lie so small and unprotected in front of him he realized that all his anger and rage were suddenly vanishing into thin air. “Yeah, no problem,” he croaked. “I'll stay with him.” Porthos pulled a chair from the table over to the couch and sat down at Aramis' side.

“When he comes to, he may be disoriented for a moment. Please be careful that he doesn't accidentally hurt himself because he lashes out or wants to get up. Sometimes patients feel nauseous and throw up.” Pointing to the washstand, he added, “There's a bucket if he needs it, but make sure he stays where he is and doesn't get up until I'm back.”

Porthos nodded again, very carefully brushing a strand of hair from Aramis' face. “I'll take care,” he mumbled.

Soon after, Lemay left the room and Porthos was alone with Aramis.

At the sight of his friend, looking unusually helpless and fragile, Porthos felt guilty and wondered what had gotten into him to get so worked up about Aramis and his alleged breach of trust.

_Could it be he hadn't told_ _us_ _anything to protect_ _us_ _?_

How difficult must it have been for Aramis to be with them day in, day out, making plans, performing operations, spending the evenings with them and not tell them what certainly must've been on his mind? Wouldn't it even have been the easier way for Aramis to tell them everything? It would have eased his own conscience but burdened the thoughts of his brothers all the more. No, Aramis probably hadn't said anything to protect him and the others from the danger of becoming a target of Louis or the Nazis themselves. Those who knew no secrets couldn't spill them and therefore were of no interest to their enemies.

“Oh Aramis,” Porthos whispered, gently stroking his friend's hand that lay on the treatment couch, tightly clutching a rosary. “I'm sorry. I acted like an idiot. Anne must think I hate her but that's not true. If she's the woman you love and will be having a baby with, she's as dear to me as she is to you. Well, almost,” he added with a smile.

“I hope so,” a soft voice replied. “And what have you done again now? Can't I let you out of my sight for even one day?” Aramis opened his eyes and looked crookedly at Porthos. “Actually, I don't want to know, at least not right now. I feel sick,” he sighed.

“Then just lie still. Lemay will be back soon. He said the anesthesia might make you nauseous. If you have to throw up, warn me in time!”

“I'm fine,” Aramis replied, closing his eyes again. “Anne told you everything, hasn't she?” he asked quietly.

Porthos remained silent for a moment before answering. “Yes. She told us everything. That you are together and that she has left Louis and she is expecting your child. And she also told us that Louis is responsible for what happened to you.”

Aramis opened his eyes, trying to get up. “He what?”

Porthos pressed against his shoulder. “Lie still, the doctor said.” With gentle force he made Aramis lie down again. “For now I’ll just tell you, Louis told Rochefort about the convoy carrying the artwork while he was drunk and Rochefort certainly passed it on to the Gestapo. That's why they wanted to catch you explicitly.”

“Rochefort betrayed us! That's how they knew!” Aramis gasped, staring at Porthos. “And you also know about the convoy?”

“Yeah, I do know. We all know.”

“Listen, Porthos, I'm sorry I didn't tell you about this. Or about my affair with Anne. I'm sorry I didn't...”

“Athos knew,” Porthos interrupted, he just couldn't help himself. Maybe the fact that Athos had known and he hadn't hurt the most.

Aramis, biting his lips remained silent for a moment. “I wouldn't have told him if he hadn't caught us. It’s just...”

“Never mind,” Porthos interrupted him again. “I think I know why you kept it all to yourself. Not that I approve of it, I blame you all the same, but I understand it. At least I think I do.”

“I'm sorry, really.”

“Let's talk about it later, when you're feeling better. I wouldn't put it past Lemay to stab a scalpel in my back if I didn't let you rest. He's very grim when it comes to his patients.”

“What patients are you talking about, Porthos?” Lemay stood in the doorway, looking amusedly at the two musketeers, who now gazed at each other embarrassedly.

*~*~*~*~*~*

With his elbows propped on a table, Treville massaged his temples. He had been thinking for half an hour about how to begin the conversation with Louis, and still he was undecided. Abruptly, his thoughts were interrupted when there was a short, loud knock at the door, and it opened with a bang before he could even react.

Treville looked up. “I'm glad you could come by on such short notice, Louis. Please sit down,” he sighed, pointing to the chair in front of his table as he sat up.

“What's so urgent?” asked Louis before sitting. His voice was filled with uncertainty, which he tried to cover up with his usual arrogance. He looked down at Treville with a furtive look. “Did something go wrong with the rescue operation?”

“That's exactly why I wanted to talk to you. Please sit down.” Treville underlined his words with an emphatic look that finally had an effect.

Louis pulled the chair back and sat down. “Is Anne here?” he asked suddenly. “Has she spoken to you?”

Surprised, Treville looked at his counterpart and swallowed the words he'd had on the tip of his tongue. Instead, he said, “Why are you asking about Anne?”

“I think you know why, don't you?” Louis looked so angry as if it was all Treville's fault. “She packed her little suitcase early this morning and claimed she was leaving me. She imagines she's in love with that sniper and wants to start a new life with him. Can you imagine that? How do I look now!” Louis' voice had crescendoed with every word. “Did you know about this? Can you even tolerate that this Casanova made a pass at my wife? I...”

“Enough!” Tréville's cutting commanding tone silenced Louis instantly. “I didn't ask you to come here to whine about your marital problems, which, by the way, you are most probably not entirely innocent of.” Treville raised his hand to keep Louis from interrupting him. “I'm not finished yet. Your private life is none of my business, but what does concern me is if your careless behaviour puts my men in danger or, worse yet, may cost them their lives.”

Louis silently looked at the captain for a moment, then his face darkened. “What do you mean?” he hissed. “What did Anne say about me?”

“That I can tell you.” Treville took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. “Have you told Rochefort about the convoy with the art treasures?”

Louis looked at him with an unreadable expression on his face. “What?” he finally asked. “What do you mean?”

“What I said. Did you?“

“I don't know where you're getting that from, but if...”

“It's a simple question!” Treville cut Louis short and stood up. Supporting himself with both hands on the table, he bent over to Louis. “Is it true that you told Rochefort about the convoy and named Aramis as one of the men accompanying the convoy?”

“I never mentioned Aramis by name! That's not true! This is an inflammatory lie Anne is now only telling because she wants to cast a poor light on me,” Louis moaned sulkily, crossing his arms demonstratively. “If her lover...”

“But this isn't about Anne!” Treville yelled, overcome by his pent-up emotions. He breathed heavily as if he had just finished a short sprint and was sure that his face was flushed with anger right now. Lowering his voice only lightly, he continued. “I want to hear a precise answer from you to the question whether, for whatever reason, you revealed to an outsider, and by that I explicitly mean Rochefort, that you brought art treasures from the Louvre to safety from the Nazis, and that Aramis was involved in this action as a sniper.” Narrowing his eyes to slits, he angrily sparkled at Louis. “Yes or no?”

“I was...”

“Yes or no?” Treville yelled, underlining his statement by hitting the table with his fist.

His friend and mentor's outburst of anger made Louis flinch noticeably. “Yes,” he finally replied sheepishly. “But there is a good reason for this! Rochefort told me about his suspicion that Anne and Aramis might be having an affair.” Louis' initially insecure and tearful voice had turned more and more into defiance with every word he said. “How do you think this made me feel?”

“That doesn't matter,” Tréville hissed. “I couldn't care less about your private life, but if it affects the Résistance’s cause, you have no business here!”

Louis opened and closed his mouth a few times like a fish that had suddenly landed on dry land, before regaining his composure. His defiance now mixed with self-pity and arrogance as he continued speaking. “This matters very well! Certainly I was entitled to drown my sorrows in alcohol when I had just learned that my wife is betraying me! Probably you all knew about it and laughed at the cuckold behind my back! Rochefort, at least, is a friend who cares whether my wife is screwing around or not.”

Treville furled his eyebrows and pressed his lips together, hoping he would not lose his last bit of self-control.

Seeing Treville's expression, Louis rowed back a little. “I was desperate, you must understand that, I just took a cup too much, this can happen to anyone.”

“One does not betray secrets of national importance,” Treville said, his voice cutting and cold as ice. “My men would never betray secrets, even if they're tortured to death.” Treville was almost a little astonished that Louis didn't drop dead immediately, the way he was glowering at him. He was convinced that if looks could kill, Louis would be dead now.

“But I'm not one of your men,” Louis grumbled, seemingly having found a loophole in Treville's chain of accusations, to which he immediately responded. “Besides, who knows what the famous _Inseparables_ haven't already blabbed out themselves when lying in the arms of a whore, drunken and satisfied? Isn't Athos the one who goes to bed with a bottle of wine every night? Certainly, there's some truth to the rumors.”

“Warning- keep your mouth shut!” Treville took three quick steps around the desk and clawed his hand into Louis' jacket, pulling him from his chair so that their faces were only inches apart. “Did you tell Rochefort about the convoy and its contents?”

Louis swallowed hard, then he nodded.

“Did you tell Rochefort where the art treasures are stored?”

Louis shook his head vigorously. “No, I didn't! I swear!”

“Did you tell Rochefort about Aramis' involvement and indicate that Aramis knows the location of the hideout?”

Louis' eyes flickered back and forth as if looking for mildness or understanding in the captain's eyes. Finally, he nodded lightly. “I only told him that the sniper was involved and that I wished I hadn't asked him along, now that I knew he was bedding my wife. What conclusions Rochefort drew from this, I don't know.” Louis' voice had changed into self-pitying pleading again.

As abruptly as he had pulled him up, Tréville let go of Louis.

Louis sank back into his chair. “Listen, Jean, I know I made a mistake, but even you must understand that. How would you feel if...”

“Shut up! I can't stand your bad excuses anymore. Because of you, one of my men almost died and I won't even talk about the pain and suffering he had to endure.”

Louis made a move to reply to something, but then decided against it.

“What other information did you pass on to the traitor Rochefort? Do you still not realize that this man can not be trusted? Either he sells his information to the Germans or he works for them.”

“I have not passed on anything!” Louis voice had suddenly lost the weeping and pleading undertone that had been there before. He angrily sparkled at Treville. “You're forgetting who brought all this into being! Do you think I would let any outsider in on it? That I couldn't keep secrets for myself? This was an exceptional situation, and since I did not reveal the location or any other clues as to where the treasures are stored, no damage was done here. If Rochefort collaborates with the Germans, then he'll have to answer to me.” Louis ~~had~~ stood up, staring challengingly at Treville.

Treville held Louis's gaze without even twitching a muscle. “If you find out the whereabouts of Rochefort, let me know, I have unfinished business with him, too.” Treville lifted his chin; his people would have understood immediately that they were dismissed. With Louis, he was not sure if he'd understand the hint. “Another thing, Louis.” He stared at the younger man with narrowed eyes. “If it ever happens again that one of my men gets hurt because you can't keep your mouth shut, you'll account for it!” After a brief pause, he added, “You can go.”

Louis glared at Treville angrily, but didn't reply. Turning away without another word, he walked to the door with bounding strides. When he left the room, he shut the door with a bang.

Treville sank back slowly into his chair, rubbing his face twice with his hand. For quite some time now he has been feeling older than he really was.

*~*~*~*~*~*

Aramis couldn't stand in the treatment room any longer, he wanted to see Anne. After Lemay had removed the leeches from the haematomas, he had told him to rest for a while, but Aramis could just as well do that in his room. He didn't yet know exactly how he would be able to get up to his room on the third floor without help, but he didn't want to wait any longer until either Lemay or one of his friends came back and looked after him. Slowly, he straightened up and immediately his body seemed to be on fire again. After the short anaesthesia, Lemay had been a bit reluctant with the morphine and so Aramis seemed to feel every single wound that covered his body. Gritting his teeth he swung his legs from the couch. He paused for a moment in this position before he took the next step, carefully pushing himself onto his feet. When he finally stood, things went better than he had expected and he shuffled to the door like an old man.

He had asked Anne to rest in his room after she had suddenly been struck by a violent nausea attack earlier. Lemay, who had happened to stop by to check on Aramis, had also advised Anne to lie down and have some tea when he had noticed the signs of morning sickness. This was another reason why Aramis wanted to see Anne.

Pulling the door shut behind him he turned towards the stairs, from where the sound of footsteps coming down at a hurried pace could be heard. A moment later a figure turned the corner and came towards him at a fast pace with his head lowered and softly murmuring words to himself. Aramis slowly walked towards the approaching man, realizing a moment later that it was Louis who was walking straight up to him. Automatically, Aramis straightened up a little more and stopped. He did not want Louis to see how bruised and battered he was.

Just before he reached him, Louis suddenly looked up, stopping abruptly. “Aramis,” he gasped out in surprise, then his gaze darkened.

“Louis,” Aramis greeted him with a nod.

Both men looked at each other appraisingly, neither of them saying a word. Finally, Louis was the first to open his mouth. “I see you have fairly recovered from your trip to the Nazis. I suppose you're on your way up to where Anne is eagerly awaiting you. She is here, isn't she?” The hatred resonating in Louis' voice was unmistakable.

“Last time I checked I didn't have to account to you for where I'm going or who's waiting for me.”

“Oh, you don't think so? Stealing another man's wife certainly means nothing to you, you seem to do it all the time. Values like the sacrament of marriage don't seem to matter to you at all.”

Aramis took a step towards Louis so that he was very close to him now with only a few centimetres between them. “Don't you dare talk about values to me,” Aramis hissed. “It is you who knows neither honor nor values. If you had cherished your marriage and behaved properly, it would never have come to the point that Anne would have turned away from you. Unlike you, she has felt bound to her marriage vows for far too long. You are the one who, by fornicating and drinking, has forfeited all rights to any marital fidelity obligation on Anne's part.”

“She is still my wife and bound by her promise. You only want to have what is mine,” Louis bellowed.

“Anne doesn't belong to you, she belongs to no one,” Aramis replied calmly. “And I can’t take what you have already lost.”

Aramis had to pull himself together to not shy away from Louis' look filled with hatred. “Be it as it may, but I'll tell you one thing: Leave Anne alone! Think of it as retributive justice or the tribute you must pay now. If it hadn't been for your big mouth and your treachery to the cause I'd never have fallen into Gestapo hands. I have...” Aramis paused briefly, knitting his brow. He had to push back the images that had popped up in his mind's eye unsolicitedly. “I paid my tribute, now it's time for you to take your turn. If that's the price you wanted, there, we're even. Leave me and Anne alone.”

Without waiting for an answer from Louis, Aramis pushed past him and slowly walked on to the stairs. He had said everything there was to say about this matter.

*~*~*~*~*~*

Athos quietly pulled the door of Aramis’ tiny room on the top floor shut behind him. Although he had knocked before entering the room, Aramis didn't seem to have heard him. The marksman lay in his bed with his eyes closed, turned to the side, probably to avoid straining his back. His features looked strained and drained.

Quietly, Athos pulled the only chair in the room towards Aramis' bed and sat down. He placed the bottle of wine he had brought on the small bedside table. Apparently, not quietly enough, because Aramis started from his slumber and stared at Athos in confusion. After a moment his eyes became focused and his features relaxed.

“Have you been here long?” Aramis asked.

“No, I just arrived. You didn't hear me knock and I didn't want to wake you.” Athos shrugged his shoulders and grinned crookedly. “Obviously it didn't work, sorry. Where is Anne?” he asked, demonstratively looking around the small room. Even if she had wanted to, Anne wouldn't have found a place to hide here, but Athos still thought it appropriate to emphasize his question with a clear gesture.

Aramis propped himself up with his elbow and slowly sat up. “She went to her father. She wanted to get it over with, tell her parents of her separation. It will be a bad fight, but she didn't want me there.” Aramis carefully swung his legs over the edge of the bed, sitting opposite Athos now. “Not that I would have been much of a help, but still. Well, the good thing is that her father never really could stand Louis, so it shouldn't be too much of a loss for him. He doesn't know me yet, though,” Aramis grinned.

Athos nodded lightly, a smile playing around the corners of his mouth. “I don't know what wouldn't be likeable about you. It will work out all right.”

Now they both had to laugh.

“How are you?” Athos asked, all cheerfulness in his voice gone.

Aramis looked at Athos, holding his gaze for a moment. “I will survive. Lemay is confident that everything will heal completely. There will be some scars left, but that's okay. Scars impress the ladies,” he added with a smile. “Well, at least the one lady.”

“And the scars one cannot see?” Athos asked gently.

Aramis averted his eyes and remained silent.

“They will heal too, believe me,” he finally replied softly. “You brought wine?” Aramis quickly tried to change the subject, pointing his head towards the bedside table.

Athos sighed briefly, but left it at that. “I think today is a good reason for a good wine. Porthos and d'Artagnan are already on their way, God knows what's holding them up.” Athos briefly glanced at his hands he had placed in his lap. “There is something else I need to ask you.”

“Yeah?”

“Believe me, I know the answer, but Tréville insists on hearing it from you in person.” Athos hesitated. Inwardly, he took a deep breath several times, outwardly he remained as calm and stoic as his friends were used to by him. “We now know about the convoy and how the Nazis found out about it. We also know that this was probably the only reason why they wanted you. To find out where the convoy's goods are being hidden.” Athos briefly cleared his throat before continuing. “Treville now wants to know what the Gestapo knows about it.”

Aramis looked at Athos with a blank expression for a solid minute. Nothing gave away how he had taken the question. Then his mouth twisted into a wry grin. “What you're supposed to ask is if I revealed the location to the Nazis, right? And because you are the friend that you are, you have pangs of remorse about it. I guess you offered yourself to be the bearer of bad news, right? Treville would have probably come himself and asked me.”

Athos hoped Aramis would not be able to read on his face the embarrassment he felt. He nodded.

“I revealed nothing, the art treasures are safe”.

The pride that resonated in Aramis' voice almost embarrassed Athos even more. “I expected nothing less. Porthos already gave Treville a fair piece of his mind on the subject, but you know how commanding officers are.”

Before Aramis could reply, the door opened and d'Artagnan entered the room, closely followed by Porthos. Both men had glasses in their hands, Porthos another bottle of wine.

“We used to knock,” Athos said dryly as a greeting for the new arrivals.

D'Artagnan stopped abruptly, uncertainly looking at Athos and Aramis alternately. “I thought,” he stuttered, “well, erm, that is....”

At the same time, Athos and Aramis couldn't keep a straight face anymore and started snorting with laughter, Aramis a little less boisterously than Athos, careful to not strain his cracked ribs too much.

Porthos slapped d'Artagnan on the back once and let his barking laughter echo through the room, closing the door with a kick. “Who's thirsty?” he asked as soon as he could draw breath again.

Porthos handed out the glasses and Athos poured wine. Then Porthos sat down on the bed next to Aramis and d'Artagnan leaned against the windowsill. They raised their glass to each other.

“To us,” Athos said, looking each of his brothers in the eye, one after the other.

“To us and to Aramis, who gave everything and gained even more,” Porthos replied. “Congratulations, by the way, you'll be a great father,” he added. Then he emptied his glass in one gulp and held it out to Athos again.

Time passed by and when the second bottle was almost empty as well, and after they had talked about anything and everything, d'Artagnan stretched himself. “I'm going to go. Constance sent me a message that we can meet.”

“Why then are you looking as if you have just eaten a lemon, _mon ami_ ,” Aramis asks amusedly.

“Because I'm still angry at Constance for keeping all this from me!” d'Artagnan replied angrily, his cheerfulness suddenly blown away. “It's hard enough that I can only see her when Bonacieux isn't there or when she has a really good excuse for him, but that she's putting herself into even greater danger without telling me, I think that's a real betrayal of trust.”

“Hold your horses, young man,” Porthos said brusquely. “First of all, Constance is a very fine woman, and, secondly, the former has nothing to do with the latter. I take it didn't hurt your love life that Constance is working for the Resistance, did it?”

D'Artagnan suddenly looked very embarrassed, squirming under Porthos' glare before he answered meekly. “Yes, but still! I think she should've told me! Every day she's risking her life and I don't know anything about it. I'm worrying about her enough as it is!”

“Exactly,” Athos replied, underlining his statement by pointing his outstretched finger at d'Artagnan. “Think about it, then.”

“Athos, please, can't you see how the boy is struggling?” Aramis glanced rebukingly at Athos before turning towards the young Gascon. “D'Artagnan, you still have so much to learn about love. Accept good advice from someone who knows everything about women.”

“Hear, hear!” Porthos raised his glass to Aramis and took a sip.

“D'Artagnan, there is no gift more precious than love. You two will grow together and realize what it means to trust each other, even if not every secret can be shared. That's not necessary, you know? What's important is that your love is sincere and that you form a new unity. And you'll see, you'll also discover new sides of yourself.”

D'Artagnan looked confused, first at Aramis, then imploringly at Porthos. Porthos shook his head and shrugged his shoulders.

“And what am I to do now? I'd still like to know why she didn't tell me. I mean, I'm allowed to be a little angry, aren't I?”

Aramis sadly shook his head. “You just don't understand.”

“Here's what you can do. Talk to her about how upset you are. Show her!” Porthos got up and joined d'Artagnan. Compassionately, he placed one hand on the young man's shoulder. “Tell her. And then listen to what she has to say. But believe me when I say you don't stand a chance against a woman like Constance. Best you apologize to her before you even start with your accusations.”

Athos smiled. “She'll pick a bone with you.”

D'Artagnan shook off Porthos' hand, looking offended. “Make fun of me as much as you like. I'll tell her how I felt about her secrecy. Then we'll see who has to apologize to whom.” He strode to the door, turning around briefly when he was there. “Get well soon,” he murmured towards Aramis before opening the door.

“Good luck with that!” Porthos called after him before the door clicked shut behind the boy.

The three men looked at each other and again they didn't manage to suppress their laughter for very long as soon as the first wry grin had appeared on one of their faces.

“The poor boy,” Porthos panted. “Constance will eat him alive, and all he will eat is humble pie.”

“I can hear you!” D'Artagnan's muffled voice could be heard through the door, then it was quiet again in the hallway.


	22. Chapter 22

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally, our journey has reached an end- I am glad that you joined Aramis and me! Please let me know if you enjoyed the ride...
> 
> Prompts for a sequel are welcome!
> 
> * * *

August 23rd 1944, Gestapo Headquarters

_We had captured the sniper, goddamnit._

Thernes could not prevent his thoughts from wandering back again and again to the man who had dared to escape from his grip. It was still a mystery how this sewer rat had managed to break out from the best secured building in Paris. Thernes felt rage, even after all these months since the sniper had escaped, boiled red-hot in his intestines and he began to breathe a bit faster.

After the sniper had disappeared, they had searched the whole area thoroughly, had rummaged through every corner of the old monastery, and had left no stone unturned. He personally had checked the former garden of the monastery a dozen times. Finally, he found traces of blood on one of the rear window frames- on the side towards the courtyard. But the window had been firmly in its hinges.

_Nothing, no opening, no mechanism._

And even if the prisoner had come through this particular window, it still did not explain how he had been able to get out of the building itself. All back and side doors had been locked, all outside windows had been barred. Even the shafts down to the boiler rooms had been nailed up.

The search outside the Gestapo headquarters had been completely fruitless, too. His people had assured him all side streets had been secured by Wehrmacht soldiers. They had combed the area for hours without any success. Thernes only saving grace was that he could at least cover up the incident in his report to Berlin, no one outside these walls will ever know how an insignificant French soldier had duped him like that.

“The disappearance of this little bastard indeed remains the biggest unsolved mystery of my whole life,” Thernes muttered disgustedly.

Motionlessly, he stood in his office at his favorite window and stared out at the street below. The people of Paris were crawling like vermin out of their shelters in the last few days and now they were swarming through the streets and alleys. 

_They should be exterminated like pests and burned down with flamethrowers._

The whole situation was slowly but surely getting out of control and if Berlin didn’t do anything soon, Paris would probably be lost. Not only the Parisian subways, but also all the policemen and postmen had started to strike and these Résistance fighters had had the audacity to attack the German wagon columns on the Champs-Élysées on a grand scale. These fools were unorganized and insufficiently armed, yet they had managed to occupy police stations, ministries, newspaper editorial offices and the town hall with nothing more but old hunting rifles or makeshift weapons such as Molotov cocktails.

_That’s enough to make one throw up_. This dullard mass down there had begun to rise up against the sublimity of the German race, now that the Allied Units were advancing further inland and wanting to liberate France.

“Liberate- imagine that,” Thernes spat in disbelief. As if these creatures understood the meaning and purpose of their existence. It appeared as if sheep were trying to tell the wolf how the world worked.

“Commissioner! An important message for you!”

Annoyed, Thernes eyebrows twitched, the voice of the new secretary sounded piercingly like a squeak of a pig at the slaughter house in his sensitive ears. It was not for the first time that he missed Fräulein Konstanze.

Most unfortunately, she had to look after her sick mother in Alsace, and despite all attempts to persuade her to stay, the secretary had resigned. Well, a woman's place was in the bosom of her family. At this point, Thernes regretted that he had not had neither time nor a slight chance to explore her bosom closely.

“Give me that- and get Kleindienst, quickly.”

The secretary squeaked an answer and Thernes was glad he could release her. With tight lips, he skimmed the message from Berlin.

“Reporting as ordered, Commissioner.” Kleindienst must have been waiting outside.

“Berlin has just sent an express order from the Führer,” Thernes informed his Rottenführer. “Paris must not fall into enemy hands, or only as a wreckage, and is to be defended until the last man. Notify the Wehrmacht contingents to be prepared for the new situation.”

“But Commissioner! Choltitz has...”

“General Choltitz, Kleindienst. Remember- General.” Thernes hated subordinates becoming too complacent.

"Of course, Commissioner Thernes. I have just learned that General Choltitz has already surrendered and had handed over Paris to the leader of the Resistance and the French Major General Leclerc. Apart from that, the flag of France has been flutteringfrom the Eiffel Tower since noon. We must disregard that order, if I may be so bold to comment.”

Kleindienst started talking faster and faster, a frenzied expression in his eyes triggered Thernes a headache. This man was truly not destined for greater things if he was daunted by such absurdity like a fluttering flag.

“And what do you suggest, Herr Rottenführer?” Thernes did not even bother to hide his disparaging tone and hoped Kleindienst would recognize the subliminal threat. Indeed, Kleindienst hesitated.

“I would suggest we evacuate the headquarters, Commissioner. The Résistance rats are already on their way and I don't think we have much time left. Three-quarters of the city is already in their hands, we'll be barely able to hold the center of Paris.”

_Could there be fear heard in the voice of Kleindienst?_ Thernes was surprised by Kleindienst's reaction to the current situation. Did his Rottenführer have so little faith in the wisdom of his Führer? He, for his part, was willing to follow the explicit wish of his one True God under all circumstances. And if it means burning a city to the ground, then so be it.

“Again, we will make an example. Wasn't it enough for these fools that five days ago we soaked the streets of the city with the blood of their brats?”

Thernes could not help but feel a pleasant shiver running down his spine as he thought of how his men had shot thirty five teenagers in the middle of the largest park in the heart of Paris.

_It had been a superb bloodbath._

They had rounded up these little would-be fighters and lined them up in a row before spraying them with gun fire in front of an audience. Before his eyes, Thernes saw every single detail of the young people before him. He was still excited, how their bewilderment had turned into sheer horror when they realized that they would die now and how the bullets would torn their bodies apart. Their blood had been splashing all over the cobblestones and their death screams still echoed in his memory like a sweet aria. That night he had made it clear to all Parisians what would happen to those who stood up against the Reich. 

“It will be of no use, Commissioner,” Kleindienst interrupted his thoughts. “Leclercs' troops have already advanced into the city and entered with an entire tank division from the southwest. There are simply too many soldiers. The Allies have surrounded Paris like with a pincer grip and the Wehrmacht already has begun its retreat. We should join them as soon as possible.” Kleindienst stared straight ahead, only the sweat on his forehead and the nervous blinking of his eyes showed his stress.

“Why didn't I know anything about this?” Thernes snorted in frustration. Nothing went like he wished. Hardly could he jump over his own shadow and disobey a direct order of the Führer. On the other hand, General Choltitz was one of the most loyal supporters of the German idea, and if even he was already ordering the retreat, then it was probably a real necessity.

_And all that because of the damn sniper._

If he had only broken him. With the French treasures they would have had a fortune in their hands, which would probably have changed the course of the war in their favor. Thernes clenched furiously his fists. He had been so close to reaching his target. Again his rage rose like lava erupting from a volcano and consumed almost every of his reasonable thoughts.

“Commissioner, you have to make a decision.” Kleindienst urged him from his inner rage and Thernes was almost grateful for it.

The Commissioner blinked once. “Give the order for immediate evacuation. But first destroy all files and documents, none of them must get into the hands of our enemy, you understand,” Thernes snarled at Kleindienst, who immediately turned around.

Even while the Rottenführer was running out of the office, he was already barking orders at his men.

" _Fräulein_!" Thernes now called for his secretary in the outer office. “Order my car immediately, I'm leaving in a few minutes.”

Thernes expected the secretary to follow his order and went to his desk. Loud voices from out on the street were reaching his ears. Probably the mob had gained more and more courage and self-confidence, at least shouting and screaming sounded more tumultuous and aggressive than a few minutes before.

Kleindienst was indeed right. He could not any longer delay his departure.

Thernes reached for the file in his top drawer and opened it briefly. The sniper's picture, taken by Rochefort in some monastery, was on top. Thernes promised himself that, after the war was over, he would send Rochefort after him again. But this time he wouldn't bother to take him prisoner.

_This time I'll give Rochefort the order to kill this bastard immediately._

The good feeling of revenge and retribution settled like a freezing rain over the thundering lava inside him. With a last glance blank of any emotions, Thernes turned around and walked quickly down the stairs and out through the assembly hall into the sultry, hot summer air. He felt neither regret nor any form of sentimentality that he had to leave the place where he had lived for almost three years. Everything here stank like Parisian vermin and the bitterness of defeat. The sooner he got away from here the better.

The obligatory black Mercedes with an open car door, was already waiting for him. Thernes paused for a short moment before getting into the car.

He turned his gaze in disgust one last time towards the street in front of the iron gate, disdained by the angry crowd chanting some kind of slogans. These fools apparently intended to storm the main building and only the machine guns type 42 aimed at them stopped them. Thernes was itching to give his men the order to shoot.

_Oh yes, you little rats, I'm going to crush you scumbags and rip the heart out of every single one of you and gut you like pigs, how I..._ Thernes gulped, his eyes went wide when suddenly something caught his eye. “Oh shit.”

***

Aramis didn't need to verify through his rifle’s scope that there was now a tiny little hole in the middle of Thernes' forehead, and brain and blood matter just sprayed the court of the monastery entrance. Instead, he closed his eyes and took a deep breath.

He had pictured vividly over and over again this moment since thatfatefulday in March. Thernes had forced on him a game whose rules he had had to learn in the face of his blood.

_Checkmate- game is over for you,_ but Aramis felt neither satisfaction nor joy.

The last days had been total chaos. The city was seething like a witch's cauldron since the populace was in the know of Operation _Overlord._

Operation Overlord’s only purpose was the battle for Paris and, as it seemed, equally the struggle for freedom and humanity against a brutal system of hate and barbarity. The general strike had already begun in mid-August and for a few days fierce street fights had been raging between the Wehrmacht and the French Résistance fighters. Their fighting power was supported by the Allied Units, which had moved towards Paris from all sides and attacked the German occupying forces with heavy artillery. In recent weeks, the Germans had starved out the Parisian population, and the number of hungry people was rising steadily.

_My goodness, they have driven these desperate people straight into our arms._

Treville had ordered the Musketeers to burst right into the middle of the fighting, since they were trained soldiers, unlike the newly recruited fighters for the Résistance. Athos, Porthos and d'Artagnan had done the best they could. All three of them had supported the completely unorganized and insufficiently armed combatants in their fight. The men and women were motivated and determined, but with their old hunting rifles or simple, makeshift weapons, they could only push back due to their sheer superior number of the occupying forces, and despite all their efforts, there were many casualties.

“And once again my network of nests proved itself,” Aramis muttered contentedly.

The noise of the battle in the streets had vanished long ago and an ever louder frenetic cheering of the masses was in the air. Aramis could not understand the chants from his place on a balcony of an abandoned attic apartment on the fifth floor in the center of Paris, but he understood the deep emotions being carried up to him. The taste of freedom hung over the city and with an indomitable spirit it will never be taken away again.

Aramis was in no hurry to stow the Kar98k and seek safety. Paris was more or less back in the hands of France and the Germans certainly had more urgent problems than looking for a single sniper in the confusion of the battle, even though they had just lost their Gestapo Commissioner.

_Fortunately, d'Artagnan had found you, my beauty_ …Lost in thoughts, Aramis stroked over the barrel of his gun.

The rifle was a marvel of German engineering, extremely elegant, finely balanced and equipped with a telescopic sight as standard. The Mauser was so smooth-running that it didn't warp in any way and due to the stable recoil, Aramis was able to adjust the rifle in a very short time. The high effective range of over 800m combined with impressive precision amazed him time after time.

_I wonder how the Germans could have ever lost the war._ The superiority of the weapon was obvious- but that didn't matter when their great Führer was deluded and crazy.

Aramis took a sip of water from his military flask and wiped the sweat from his forehead. He moved his shoulders to take out some of the tension and flinched briefly.

“I really wonder how much longer it will take...” Worried, he sighed, even though the healing progress went unexpectedly well, mainly thanks to Lemay's personal efforts. The doctor had provided him with morphine and penicillin in the most critical phase, thus helping Aramis to bear halfway the heavy pain. After only ten days, Lemay was able to remove the stitches and his physical recovery had progressed rapidly. Through hard practice he was even able to use his maltreated hands just like before.

_And what about the scars nobody can see?_ Athos had asked.

Thernes, and especially the feeling of helplessness, had left deep marks in Aramis' mind and there was hardly a night when he didn’t wake up from a nightmare sweating and not realizing for a moment that he actually was safe. _It's over_ , Athos had said, and Aramis pinned his trust in life to this one sentence.

_So this will pass, too_. Aramis was sure, because he was not alone and surrounded by people who loved him and supported him.

With a glance over the balustrade, Aramis made sure that his aid as a marksman was no longer necessary. For some time, he had lost sight of his brothers in the turmoil below, but he was sure they could take good care of themselves.

Aramis wrapped the rifle in linen cloth, put it back into an old leather hunting case and sat down on the thick stone balcony railing, his feet dangling. The hot August sun had heated up the city and everything around him shimmered in its blazing light. The heat didn't bother him as long as the warm summer wind blew through the brackish sultriness. A smile appeared on his lips when he saw the colorful crowd below him, celebrating life with pure joy.

“But it has cost us all far too much,” he murmured, feeling a slight sting in his heart.

Inevitably, Aramis' thoughts wandered back to those thirty five teenagers who had been brutally slaughtered by the Nazis out of pure show of force. The completely unnecessary massacre had become for him a bitter symbol for a brutal mankind and he was infinitely grateful that he had not been there. Eyewitnesses had reported it had been Thernes who had given the order to shoot.

_And now righteous punishment has overtaken you, you damned bastard._

Of course, Aramis knew this was highly inconsistent with the divine commandment of forgiveness, but he had been in this dilemma regarding his soldiery for years. On the one hand there was his vow to follow the commandments of his faith, but on the other hand clearly a non-violent termination of the Nazi regime would never have been possible. In Aramis’ opinion, ethical values in action doesn’t necessarily mean following blindly any given moral commandments or prohibitions.

“We are not to simply bandage the wounds of victims beneath the wheels of injustice, we are to drive a spoke into the wheel itself,” he quietly repeated the thoughts of a German resistance fighter.

Nevertheless he was afraid that the killing of Thernes was only for personal revenge. Every revenge is preceded by a loss. God knows he had lost more than enough to this monster.

_Could it be that my only interest was getting satisfaction?_

He would then be not more than a victim becoming a perpetrator in order to get satisfaction in an act of revenge. He was afraid if he had poisoned his soul with this action and had become the same despicable creature that he just had killed.

Aramis sighed and swiped his hand over his face. His gaze wandered over the city he loved so much. Joy was filling his heart, because finally the time has come to live in freedom and the light of justice again.

_Justice._

_Did justice lead me here- or was it only revenge?_

Justice for the torture Thernes had caused him, justice for the suffering the Commissioner had inflicted on so many innocent people, justice for all the dead this man was responsible for?

Or was it only revenge for the torture, revenge for the suffering, revenge for all the dead men and women?

_Both are thinkable. Both are possible._

“No- just no,” he cut his doubts short and shook his head. “After all he's done, this bastard has forfeited his life.”

Yet, nothing could make up for Thernes’ misdeeds. He had killed so many people but he could only die once. Oh no, Aramis had killed Thernes not out of personal revenge, but because the man had committed disgusting crimes against humanity. He had shot a bullet through Thernes' head because the command of justice demanded it, not because he wanted to get personal satisfaction.

Rather, Aramis had retained the memory of the dead by doing what they could no longer do. By pulling the trigger, he had given the many victims of Thernes a voice here and now. Aramis was painfully aware he could not give life back to anyone who had died by Thernes’ hand. Nevertheless, a smile appeared on his lips.

“It's over, we are finally really free,” he whispered to all the people below, and to all the people before his inner eye. He was certain he had corrected the blatant injustice and was at peace with himself in every single way.

Aramis remained seated high above the roofs for quite a while until the harsh light of the day had gradually given way to a pleasant brightness of the afternoon. He drank the last sips of water and then decided to return to his brothers in the garrison.

But when he stepped out of the house into the street, he could not help but be carried away by the cheering crowd. Strangers lay in each others arms, the French flag was hanging out of countless windows fluttering in the wind. Out of nowhere thousands of little flags had appeared, waved by the celebrating people with big smiles on their faces and filled with high spirits and gaiety.

Again and again he felt people patting his shoulders and beaming gratefully, someone even tried to put a chicken into his hands- they had probably noticed his rifle bag and recognized him as one of the fighters for Paris. Aramis shared their happiness and, in the surrounding ecstasy of emotions, he hadn’t noticed that he was already near the fountains in front of the Palais de Chaillot, very close to the Eiffel Tower.

Suddenly he saw Athos, Porthos and d'Artagnan standing underneath one of the mighty arches of the right wing. They had shouldered their rifles just as he had, someone had stuck little flags in their barrels and their cheeks were reddened with joy, excitement, heat, effort or all of it.

_My brothers..._

Aramis' heart opened wide at the sight of them. He was grateful having found them, completely unexpected both in this precious moment of newly won freedom and peace. Like magnets they had been drawn to each other. His brothers seemed to feel his presence too, for they turned to him almost simultaneously.

The radiance of his own joy and enthusiasm was now visible on their faces too and every word became wasted as they embraced each other. They all had survived the horror of this terrible war and together they could walk into a bright future holding everything ready for each of them.


	23. Epilogue

Outside Paris, early days in September 1944

Aramis drove along at a leisurely pace, warm wind in his hair, and with each breath soaking up the bright light of the summerly nature surrounding him. He inhaled the feeling of freedom and couldn't get enough of the landscape around him, which told him in its own way that soon this country and its people would be truly free again. The glaring light of the midday sun had given way to the mild golden orange light of the late afternoon hours which, at this time of year, always covered the heated ground and predicted a long twilight.

Aramis was in no hurry, he knew the way, and unlike that night more than two years ago, there was no longer any threat that would strike, like a snake from the thicket. D'Artagnan had lent him his motorcycle, an impressive big machine, elegant and fast- _only the devil could know where he got it from_ \- and he enjoyed gliding over rolling hills and curvy country roads through the vineyards. The lavender harvest was long gone, but its scent still hung in the air, along with the smell of dried hay, which unmistakably heralded the end of summer.

He stopped at exactly the point where Louis had sent him to secure the convoy. He found unerringly the spot which he had chosen as his hiding place. Once again he settled down in the rough heather, surrounded by dancing insects in the sun and the earthy scent of wild thyme. Aramis gazed over the valley.

A deep sense of tranquility filled his heart and soul, when he began to pray. Simple words of gratitude, in harmony with the plain beauty of nature, embraced like balm his still troubled soul. He felt God’s sheer presence deep in himself.

_Gracias al Señor._

That he was alive, that he could love and laugh, that he was here, appeared to him like a miracle. A miracle which he did not fully understand, but in moments like these, real understanding was not crucial. He was in harmony with the world around him and he sensed the connectedness of all things, interwoven into a greater whole to some extent he was part of.

Out of a spontaneous impulse, Aramis laid down on his back and looked up into the sky. His thoughts floated high above him like the bands of fluffy clouds. He didn't bother to hang on to them but let them move on at the same time.

At some point he drove further on, steadily towards his destination. It didn't take long until he reached the end of the small gravel road. The entrance to the cave could easily be found if someone knew where to look. Aramis got off his bike, knocked off the dust of his trousers and grabbed the storm lamp he had brought. At first, wooden planks blocked the entry. It didn't take long to remove them, and soon he entered the little cave network system.

Aramis slowly went deeper in, enjoying the coolness inside the mountain, until he discovered the first pieces of art. Statues, wooden boxes, pictures and few other things lay wildly mixed up, but Aramis could see once they had been carefully stored. As he advanced further into the cave, he simply had to touch here and there lovingly all the treasures as he passed by. The dust of transience had settled on them for the last two years. Soon each of them would shine again, like the phoenix rising from the ashes in new brilliance, and take up their ancestral homes right in the middle of civilization.

Aramis smiled as he finally found what he had been looking for. A driver of the truck had described the exact place and he meticulously grabbed a big, flat wooden box. He was a little surprised how light it was, considering the weight of its contents. Aramis carefully carried it out of the darkness of the cave into daylight.

_As if it was brought out of the darkness of barbarism back into the bright light of humanity._

At this thought, a short shiver ran down his spine. He hadn't noticed how cool it actually had been in the cave and so he enjoyed the warm air surrounding him like a blanket.

Aramis laid his precious finding on the ground in front of the cave and opened the wooden box with a small chisel he had brought along. He freed the image from the protective wood shavings, respectfully took it out of the box and leaned it carefully against the trunk of an old tall pine tree.

He longed to feel it, so he devoutly touched the painting with his fingertips. Almost shyly, he followed the contours of the painting’s frame, feeling the smoothness of the long dried oils. He took a few steps back and opened himself to and let the portrait sink in.

He had not even been five years old, when he had seen the mysterious woman with her delicate smile at the Louvre for the first time. Even if he hadn't understood his father's explanations of the technique used by the artist back then, he had nevertheless been affected by the magic and sensual femininity of the dark-haired beauty. At that moment she had become the epitome of the essence and mystery of a woman, which he had rediscovered in every single woman he had ever met.

“You were probably my first great love,” he whispered deeply touched and was captured by overwhelming joy at her sight, which for him was the symbol for the Heart and Soul of France.

_Even though she is actually an Italian_ , a little amused he corrected himself.

Aramis noticed how his left thumb kept running unconsciously over the small, bulging scar on his wrist. It literally stung his heart at the thought of the man, who gave him these scars. Thus branding him with a Mark of Evil he would be forever connected with him. But with the Beauty before him and the riches of the treasures behind him, he was deeply convinced that those scars were worth his sacrifice. He would bear the signs of his torment, every single scar like a stigma, open symbols of an almost broken body, but an unbroken spirit. He thought tenderly of all the people he loved, his brothers, the woman he loved, his unborn child he would soon hold in his arms. And he also thought of all the other people of his nation who were eagerly waiting to be able to rearrange their lives after this terrible war. Making contributions for paving the way into freedom filled his mind with pride.

As the sun slowly set down, he detached himself from his meditative tranquillity, cautiously placing the precious painting into the wooden box and conscientiously closing it. He brought it back to its hide-out, well aware it will not be long before it would hang in its previous place again.

As Aramis got on the bike again, he turned around to take one last probing look at this unusual treasure vault.

_But the real wealth of my country are the people living there. They are the Hearts and Souls of France_ , he smiled contemplatively.

Aramis started the engine of the machine and, whirling up the dust of the dry summer soil, he drove back along the gravel road. He was itching to floor the cycle’s accelerator almost boisterously.

He gave in to the frenzy of speed and suddenly, out of the corner of his eye, he _saw_ his musketeer horses beside him thundering across the fields. They flew along, with far blown nostrils, pulsating veins under shiny fur, wild and tempestuous, full of power and vitality- and Aramis flew with them.

_Fin_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> html created by JODT_Autor, a tool to convert *.odt, *.doc, *.docx to tidy html


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